


Wishverse 08 - Suzie is Freaking Hard to Kill

by Soledad



Series: If Wishes Were Horses (Wishverse) [8]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Actions Have Consequences (at least here), Canon-Typical Violence, Detective Swanson Rocks, Episode rewrite: s1.08 - They Keep Killing Suzie, Heavy-Duty Gwen Bashing, It Was A Real Shame About Suzie, M/M, Original Dialogue In Different Context, So very AU, The Many Departures of Gwen Cooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7713163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many different ways to get rid of Gwen Cooper, while keeping the episodes as canonical as possible, including a great deal of original dialogue. A writing experiment. Not for Gwen-fans, obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> The POV of this part was unexpected, even for myself. Re-watching Series 1 to write these stories made me realize what a strong, impressive woman Det. Swanson was. I’d have liked to see her more often, actually.
> 
> The other detectives/constables/SOCO people are the nameless extras seen in the episode. I just gave them names, to make things easier. Detective M’Benga, of course, was named after the Original Trek’s doctor, McCoy’s right-hand-man at alien (especially Vulcan) biology.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 08 – SUZIE IS FREAKING HARD TO KILL, Part 1**

Detective Kathy Swanson – she of the multiple braids, the sharp wit and the smashing good looks of an ebony goddess – was never particularly fond of Torchwood. She wasn’t particularly fond of any secret organizations, period. She hated the fact that they could do as they pleased, without regard of the local police. That they didn’t have to answer any questions. That they could take over any cases they wanted. She hated their arrogant attitude. And she particularly hated Torchwood and its leader, a certain Captain Jack Harkness, who – according to her colleagues - generally behaved as if Cardiff had been his personal property.

So far, Kathy Swanson hadn’t had the questionable pleasure to meet the legendary Captain Harkness in person. She hadn’t even talked to him on the phone. Whenever she couldn’t avoid dealing with Torchwood, she’d got to speak to their public relations person, a smooth-mannered young Welshman by the name of Ifan… no, Ianto Jones.

Well, at least young Mr. Jones had impeccable manners. Which, according to Inspector Henderson, one could not say about Jack Harkness. Henderson, not exactly a celibate person himself, described the Torchwood leader as an incorrigible flirt who’d shag anything on two legs if it wasn’t up on a tree within ten seconds. Swanson wasn’t a prude, either, but such an oversized libido tended to give her a headache. She’d have disliked a man like Harkness even if he weren’t the arrogant boss of a self-absorbed secret organization. The fact that he was all this only made things worse.

Which brought her back to the thought how much she hated secret organizations in general. But she didn’t have the time to brood about it right now. The Arwyn murder case from the previous day was still not going anywhere, and she had the bad feeling that this murder was just the beginning of something particularly ugly.

“Are the lab results from the killer’s hairs in yet?” she asked M’Benga, who was studying the crime scene investigation reports two desk away. The tall, slender black man shook his clean-shaven head.

“Afraid not,” he replied. “Lab’s a tad overflowing with work at the moment. We’re trying to make sense of the smears of blood on the wall in the meantime, but no luck with that, either.”

“With other words: we’ve got… nothing,” she concluded sourly.

“Not much,” M’Benga admitted. “It’s really frustrating. It doesn’t happen every day that a killer would kindly leave DNA-capable matter behind for us…”

“Autopsy report?” Swanson asked.

“Hasn’t come in yet,” M’Benga made an apologetic grimace. “One of the pathologists has been ill for days; the other one’s on leave and won’t return for another week or so. Khandi’s got a huge backlog.”

Swanson rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Oh, great!”

“Detective Swanson,” her desk clerk, a brunette Welshwoman in her early thirties, called over, “you’ve got an urgent call on Emergency Line Two.”

“Thank you, Eiry,” she took over the receiver and barked in a less than friendly tone. “Swanson.”

“Constable Davidson here, ma’am,” a vaguely familiar voice answered. “I’m afraid you’ve been right. We’ve found two other victims. Same circumstances… with only one difference. The smears of blood on the wall… this time they can be read.”

“A definite inscription?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes, ma’am,” PC Davidson answered slowly. “I reckon you’re not gonna like it, though.”

“Why? What is it?”

“Just a single word: _Torchwood_.”

Detective Swanson was sorely tempted to say something no self-respecting woman would utter, not even under great duress. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to stomp down on that urge. A senior detective had to show restrain, no matter how hard it was.

“Sometimes I _really_ hate being right,” she then said. “Very well, Constable; give me the address. I assume you’ve called SOCO and the paramedics already, haven’t you?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Good. Secure the crime scene. We’re on our way.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
When they arrived to the suburban area, they could see that PC Davidson and his colleagues had been busy. The crime scene was sealed off with the usual yellow tape, and several constables, wearing the usual black police vests, were making sure that nobody crossed the line.

Swanson recognized the tall, blond officer organizing things as Andy Davidson, and walked right up to him, M’Benga in tow.

“Anything so far?” she asked. The constable shook his head.

“SOCO are still doing their stuff,” he replied in that surprisingly deep, mellow voice of his, and indeed, there were half a dozen people, wearing those white paper coveralls that left only their faces free, and rubber gloves, doing what SOCO usually did: making photos, taking fingerprints from various parts of the house, securing footprints and the likes.

Swanson sighed. “I see. What’s the crime scene like?”

“Like a slaughterhouse,” Andy Davidson replied grimly. “My partner couldn’t take it; after the first glimpse, she ran out. She’s still in some corner, being sick, the poor thing. It’s not a sight for a newbie, for sure.”

“Speaking of which, have you called your former partner?” Swanson asked. “I imagine they’d want to blunder into this case, so we better start off with being cooperative.”

Andy shrugged. “To be honest, I avoid Gwen Cooper whenever I can. But I did speak with their PR guy, that Ianto Jones bloke, and he said the team – save him, of course, as someone needs to keep things coordinated from the base – should be there in twenty minutes, tops.”

“Damn, that hardly gives us enough time to learn something before they take the whole case off our hands,” Swanson chewed her bottom lip. “All right, M’Benga, speak to the witnesses, assuming there are any. Should you learn _anything_ useful, send it to Eiry in the office per mobile phone. And tell her to make _copies_ of everything for me, just in case.”

“And what are _you_ gonna do?” Geoff M’Benga asked.

“Taking a good, hard look at the crime scene, as long as I’m still allowed to do,” Swanson replied.

“Good luck, ma’am,” Davidson sighed. “I just hope you’ve got an iron stomach... you’ll need it.”

Entering the crime scene – which happened to be the murdered couple’s bedroom – Swanson had to admit that the young constable wasn’t exaggerating. The room did look like a slaughterhouse, with the blood of the victims generously splattered everywhere… including the wall at the headboard of their shared bed, on which they were strategically draped as if on some kind of bier for the funeral. Their throats had been cut and their blood had soaked the bedlinens. They seemed to hold hands in their deaths. Above their heads, a photo of them had apparently been torn from the wall, where the word TORCHWOOD stood written in blood, in large block letters. Only her long years of professional experience – and too many similar scenes that she’d seen during those years – saved Swanson from getting violently sick like some newbie. Even so, it was a garish sight.

“Boy, this is one ugly scene,” she commented softly.

SOCO technician Tim Cochrane, a short, somewhat scruffy young man, who was taking photos, nodded grimly. “Haven’t seen one like this for a while – well, aside from the Arwyn case from yesterday. Seems that the murderer was in a regular savage frenzy or something.”

“Do you have something for me already?” Swanson asked.

“Lloyd has the preliminaries,” Cohrane answered. “But there isn’t much so far. We’ve just got there, and the crime scene is full of evidence. Whoever this… this _butcher_ is, he didn’t bother to sweep his trail clean.”

Swanson thanked him and left the house with ill-concealed relief. Just outside, she found Sara Lloyd, the leader of the SOCO-team: a blonde woman, half a head taller than her, wearing a paper coverall like the others. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a tight bun to avoid contaminating the evidence, but the hood of her coverall was pulled back so that it wouldn’t narrow her vision.

“We’ve secured dozens of footprints outside the house,” she reported, “but, of course, those won’t help us much as long as we don’t have any shoe-soles to compare with. I had all shoes from the house gathered and taken to the lab. Cochrane is taking photos, and two of my people are gathering fingerprints from windows, doors, furniture… everywhere. I’ve searched the bodies for any foreign hairs and skin particles. The samples have been sent to the DNA lab already. We’ll see if there are any matches with the Arwyn case.”

“Well, the method is similar enough,” Swanson sighed, “but we won’t know anything for sure until autopsy and lab reports come in. And that can take a while, I’m told. Both places are understaffed at the moment.”

“I’ve got the feeling that the problem has just been taken out of our hands,” Lloyd said darkly and gestured at the black SUV that was just pulling up, with the word TORCHWOOD written in huge letters on its side. Which was a fairly stupid thing for a so-called secret organization, if one thought about it. They could have advertised themselves on the internet, if this was how they interpreted secrecy.

“Bollocks,” Swanson declared succinctly. “They didn’t waste any time to blunder into our investigation, did they?”

“Look at it from the bright side,” Lloyd said. “They’ve got their own pathologist who can do the autopsies within a day; and they’ve got resources and equipment we can’t even dream of. That promises fairly extensive results… and soon.”

“Yeah, but they’d never share those results with us,” Swanson pointed out. “Arrogant, secretive arseholes that they are.”

“Point taken,” Lloyd admitted, and they watched the Torchwood team get out of the SUV and walk up to the police tape in a ridiculously James Bond-like fashion. They even wore sunglasses.

It would have made a lasting impression, if it weren’t for Gwen Cooper on the right flank, who couldn’t have managed the power stride of the others for her life. Why Torchwood would ever hire her was beyond Swanson’s understanding - or PC Davidson’s, if the rumours were true. But again, they looked a fairly unconventional bunch.

“Sunglasses,” Swanson murmured to Lloyd and shook her head in exasperation. “If there’s ever been over-acting the scene, this certainly is it.”

“Well, according to Andy Davidson, they work underground,” Lloyd replied, grinning, “so daylight must be quite the shock to their system.”

“So Davidson’s still seeing Cooper?” Swanson asked in surprise. “I thought it’s been over between them for at least a year or so. If not longer.”

Lloyd shook her head. “Nah, he’s more than glad to be rid of her. Small wonder, as she kept ruining the simplest cases the two of them were assigned to, and such _his_ every chance for a promotion, too. But she keeps pumping him for inside information, and through her Andy met that Japanese girl who’s their computer nerd.”

“The one who’s just prevented a man killing his ex and their kid a couple of weeks ago?” Swanson couldn’t help but be impressed. “Inspector Henderson is still waxing poetic about her courage.”

“The very same,” Lloyd said. “She’s the one on the left. Cochrane was out at the scene. He says Andy seemed quite smitten with her.”

“After having worked with _Cooper_ for years, any woman with two brain cells firing at the same time must be impressing the hell out of him,” Swanson said cynically.

“True,” Lloyd agreed. “But regardless of that, Toshiko Sato is really a genius. She was working for secret government projects at the age of _twenty_ already, and has at least tow doctorates that Google knows of,” at Swanson’s surprised look, Lloyd shrugged. “Andy was talking so dreamily about her that I got curious. I researched the others, too, but didn’t come up with much. The weaselly little man is Dr. Owen Harper, their pathologist, but there’s almost no data about him, aside from studies and stuff. And their boss, that Jack Harkness character, the one with the theatrical superhero mannerism, apparently doesn’t even exist.”

Swanson pulled a face. “And people wonder why I hate secret organizations so much. Well, thank you, Lloyd. I’ll go and face the music now.”

“Good luck,” Lloyd returned to her work, and Swanson decided to take the initiative with the Torchwood band. Making the pre-emptive strike sometimes worked against much stronger adversaries.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“Well, if this isn’t Captain America and his faithful minions!” she said sarcastically. “It was about time you showed up, I’d say. You’re Torchwood, I assume? The ones my team bitch about all the time?”

Their boss, whom Lloyd had pointed out as Captain Jack I’ll-shag-anything-on-two-legs-Harkness with the bad superhero attitude, turned to her with billowing greatcoat and looked at her in a somewhat patronizing manner that made her guts clench with annoyance.

“And you are?” he asked. Swanson resisted the urge to punch him in the guts… barely.

“Detective Swanson,” she replied simply.

“I'm Captain Jack Harkness,” the man introduced himself, as if he’d said _the Prince of Wales_ or something like that. Swanson wasn’t the least impressed.

“So I've heard,” she seized him up critically. It wasn’t that he’d not offer a striking figure – he most certainly did – but this dressing-up stuff was slightly ridiculous. “Are you always this dressy for a murder investigation?”

Harkness took off his sunglasses. His eyes were brightly, intensely blue, adding to his boyish good looks. But despite all this, there was a hidden, weary air about him. The same air one could feel about aging women who were trying desperately to look young, even taking measures like cosmetic surgery or having their wrinkles smoothed by Botox injections. It was bizarrely strange in connection with such a masculine, handsome man, but it was there nonetheless. Swanson began to wonder just how old he truly was.

”What, d'you rather me naked?” Harkness asked cheekily.

Swanson rolled her eyes and saw the Japanese woman of the Torchwood team do the same behind the back of her boss. “God help me, the stories are true.”

Harkness put his glasses back on and grinned unrepentantly. “I’m trying to live up to my reputation.”

“Trust me; it’s a full success,” Swanson replied.

“So who's the victim?” Cooper interrupted, shooting her new boss a look of… _jealousy_? Swanson shook her head in amazement. Could Harkness really have such low standards as shagging Gwen-bloody-Cooper, or was Cooper just completely delusional? Was she about to make a scene, in the middle of a murder investigation, or was she just trying to look competent? Well, good luck with _that_!

Fortunately for everyone, in that very moment Detective M’Benga walked up to them, open notebook in his hand. He’d apparently found the time to speak to the witnesses already.

“That's victims, plural,” he corrected. “Yesterday, a man was murdered at 96 Oakham Street, Alex Arwyn, 28, single, estate agent, here we go, that's from the scene of crime.” He handed Harkness photos from the Arwyn murder case. “Today, in here, we get two more, Mark and Sarah Briscoe, both 33, married, he's a surveyor, she works in education.”

“What about the smears of blood?” Harkness asked. “Is that writing?”

“I’d call it work in progress,” Swanson answered in M’Benga’s stead. “Come inside and see the finished thing.”

The Torchwood team followed her in, entering the blood-soiled bedroom, in which Cochrane was still taking photos.

“Oh, my God...” Cooper whispered, her eyes so wide they almost bulged off her face. The others were quietly, grimly seizing up the room.

Swanson gestured towards the word TORCHWOOD written in blood on the wall. “Looks like somebody wants your attention,” she said dryly.

Harkness’ face grew hard and grim. “They've got it,” he answered. Then he shook himself and sent Toshiko back to the SUV to check the background of the murder victims and any possible connections between them.

“Was there any forensic evidence at the first crime scene?” he then asked.

”We found a few of the killer's hairs from the first murder,” Swanson replied. “Lab results should be in soon… or so we hope.”

“Good, we'll need that,” Harkness looked around at the SOCO people. “Now, if you could just clear the room? Some of this equipment is strictly need to know.”

Swanson snorted. “It was only a matter of time.”

Harkness turned back to her with a frown on his face. “What was?”

“Something like this to happen,” she replied angrily. “Torchwood walks all over this city, like you own it. Now these people are paying the price – ordinary people, ripped apart, with your name written in their own blood. From where I'm standing, _you_ did this, Captain Jack Harkness. You did it.”

Harkness opened his mouth to say something but she didn’t let him.

“You did it,” she repeated. “And you won’t shut me out of this investigation, not this time. This isn’t some secret government project or some international conspiracy that would be under your specific jurisdiction. These are murders, committed in _my_ revier, against people under _my_ protection. Try to remove me from here, and you’ll see that not everyone is as spineless as the brass when you show up, flashing that stupid Torchwood badge of yours.”

Harkness looked at their doctor who was packing out the contents of his kit, looking for something specific he needed. “She really does have spunk, doesn’t she?” he said. “I like that.”

“You like everyone who makes your blood boil,” the doctor retorted. “It’s your choice, though. You’re the boss. I reckon we can always make her forget later.”

“Jack, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Cooper protested, but Harkness silenced her with an impatient gesture.

“As Owen says, it’s my choice, Gwen – not _yours_ ,” he turned to Swanson. “All right, Detective Swanson, you’re in. But you must understand that you’re not allowed to talk about what you’re gonna see or hear around us to _anyone_.”

“And _you_ , Captain, need to understand that just because I don’t have a dick to lead me instead of my brains, I’m not automatically less smart – or less discrete – than any of you would be,” Swanson replied angrily. “I know what confidential information is and how to shut up about it; or else I’d have lost my job ages ago. Now, do you think that we can postpone the discussion about my credentials and focus on getting this murderer before he kills anyone else?”

For a moment, Harkness stared at her in open-mouthed shock. Apparently, his minions never talked to him in such a blunt manner – which, considering the fact that _Cooper_ worked for him, was something of a surprise. That woman didn’t even know what tactful manners meant. She wouldn’t recognize tact if it hit her upside the head. But perhaps she hadn’t been with them long enough yet to have been rude to the _boss_.

A moment later Harkness recovered and turned to the doctor again. “Opinions, Owen?”

Dr. Harper gave him a sardonic half-grin.

“Well, at least we've got a head start,” he replied. “If it's someone we've pissed off, that narrows it down to... ooh, four or five million.”

He found a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on, ready to start examining the victims. Unlike Cooper, who was getting distinctly green around the gills, the sight didn’t seem to bother him at all. Swanson wondered what sort of things did they see at Torchwood for their doctor to be such a hard-hearted bastard – and decided that she didn’t really want to know.

“And that's just the humans,” Harkness said thoughtfully. It sounded like a really bad joke, but for some reason Swanson had the idea that it wasn’t. Then he touched his headset. “Tosh, how are we doing?”

“There's no record of Mr and Mrs Briscoe in our database,” the tinny voice of Toshiko Sato answered. “Nor yesterday's victim, and no link between him and the Briscoes. No connection between any of them. Oh, and Jack? They've got the results on the killer's hair.”

”That we need to see,” Harkness said. “Owen, come with us. We’ll have all victims transferred to the Hub; you can play with them later.”

The doctor nodded and removed the latex gloves. They went out to Swanson’s car, where one of the armed cops, Sergeant Dion Davies, was already waiting for them with a folder. Swanson took it from him and read out loud for the others.

“Initial findings say, Caucasian male, early forties, smoker, drinks tequila,” she frowned in displeasure. “Doesn't match any DNA profiles. Only thing of interest is a compound we've never seen before. Recognise it?”

She held out the folder for the Torchwood doctor, who suddenly seemed very uncomfortable. “Uh-Oh, we're in trouble.”

Cooper pushed between him and Harkness to see the results – which, as expected, told her nothing at all. “What is it?”

“Compound B67,” the doctor replied curtly. That, apparently, didn’t say anything to Cooper, but Harkness stared at the report in shock.

“You're kidding, right?” he said. “It’s not what I think it is?”

“Afraid so,” the doctor answered. Cooper looked from the one at the other with increasing frustration.

“What’s it, dammit?” she demanded, just keeping from stomping her feet on the ground like a four-year-old. “Tell me, Jack! Owen!

“Retcon,” the doctor said. “He's got Retcon in his blood.”

 _That_ seemed to ring a bell, finally, because Cooper became deathly pale and murmured something unintelligible. Whatever that Retcon stuff might have been – perhaps some new drug, perhaps a secret compound used by Torchwood – it couldn’t have been good. And Swanson had enough.

“All right,” she said tersely. “This has gone on long enough. I want some answers and I want them _now_. What the hell is Retcon; and what have you got to do with the killer? Cos is obvious that Torchwood has some part in this – the only question being _what_ part?”

“Seems that we’re involved somehow,” Harkness admitted reluctantly, his concern obvious. “We can’t discuss this here, though; it’s too… sensitive. Best you come with us to our base; you, too,” he added, looking at Sara Lloyd who’d been listening to their conversation for a while. “There might be some evidence you’ll need to survey and compare to your founds.”

For half a moment, Swanson hesitated. Walking into Torchwood’s headquarters didn’t necessarily mean that she would ever come out again – not with her memories untouched anyway. There were rumours about Torchwood wiping the memories of unwanted witnesses and that sort of thing… and she had more than just herself to consider.

But after that brief hesitation, she nodded decisively. They needed to solve this case before anyone else died; and besides, back at the office Eiry Convay had enough evidence to pick up the case again, should she and Lloyd suddenly have memory problems.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sara Lloyd is the blonde SOCO woman talking to Swanson in the very first scene in the episode. Her name was not given, so I gave her one.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 08 – SUZIE IS FREAKING HARD TO KILL, Part 2**

The drive to the Millennium Centre was a long and very quiet one, with Swanson taking her own car (and Lloyd) and following the Torchwood SUV. Neither of them knew what to expect, but both had an uneasy feeling about getting into the Torchwood base. They both had known of the existence of Torchwood for years, of course – everyone even remotely connected to the police did – but until now, it had just been a name; a label for something elusive and vaguely disliked.

But now – now they were going directly to the lion’s den… although they sure as hell hadn’t expected it to be accessible through a run-down little tourist information office. The super secret organization hiding behind a little shop was such a cliché that Swanson had to bit the inside of her cheek not to howl with laughter. It just reminded her too much of that US series about a secret police force hunting aliens – only that those guys got in through a dry cleaner's shop. Yep, it was just like _Special Unit 2_ all over again.

“Ianto, close the shop and get down with us,” Harkness ordered the young clerk in the impeccable dark suit who was working on an outdated computer behind the counter. “We’ve got a Retcon incident… probably more than just one, in fact. I’ll need your expertise – _and_ coffee.”

“Certainly, sir,” the young man shut down the computer and rose, straightening his jacket in the process.

Swanson recognized his soft voice and melodic Welsh accent from their numerous phone calls. So _this_ was Ianto Jones, the public face of Torchwood? Well, he wasn’t exactly like she’d imagined him to be. He was a lot more formal, although doubtlessly competent – and awfully young. Not to mention cute, with a really good dress sense; that dark suit went very well with the pale blue shirt and the red tie. But most of all: very young. Did Torchwood employ babies?

On the other hand, they’d hired Gwen Cooper, so perhaps their demands towards their staff had to be somewhat… unorthodox.

“Well, Teaboy?” Dr. Harper demanded in a manner that seemed unnecessarily – and intentionally – hostile. “Are you going to let us in sometime today or do we need to take the other way?”

Young Ianto Jones ignored the doctor’s rudeness and looked at his boss in askance. “Sir? Do you want me to open the entrance?”

Harkness nodded. “Yeah, let us in, Ianto. The ladies will work with us on this particular case. We’ll deal with the aftermath later – one way or another.”

“Very good, sir,” the young clerk replied. He reached under the counter, where he presumably pushed some button or threw some switch. The front door of the tourist office snapped shut – by remote control, most likely – and a previously invisible door on their right opened soundlessly.

“Follow me, please,” Ianto Jones said to Swanson and Lloyd, stepping through the doorway without hesitation. The two women followed suit, stepping directly into the world of science fiction.

When she later tried to phrase for herself _what_ the Torchwood base was like, Detective Swanson’s first allusion would always be the _Aeon Flux_ movie. She couldn’t tell why – there were no actual similarities, aside from the sheer size of the underground base. The Hub, as she heard the Torchwood employees call it, was of immense size, filled with what seemed futuristic technology – and it was hidden in plain sight, in the very heart of Cardiff, right under the Millennium Centre. Hell, the water tower of the fountain even ran straight through it! The whole thing boggled the mind; it was beyond incredible.

Ianto Jones led them in what looked like a conference room, politely inquired about their coffee preferences, and by the time the rest of the team took their places around the table and Toshiko Sato powered up the large screen, he was already back, serving coffee to everyone. Swanson kept wondering about what exactly his job within Torchwood might be. He seemed just a bit too competent and knowledgeable to be a simple office boy; although, as she knew all too well, sometimes the administrative staff knew a great deal more than anyone would be comfortable to admit.

“So,” she said when all had their coffee and Ianto, too, had joined them at the conference table. “What is this mysterious compound you’ve found in the killer’s blood and why does it mean trouble?”

“It’s called Compound B67,” Dr. Harper replied. “Aka Retcon.”

“The magic ingredient of the amnesia pill,” Harkness added. “That’s how we make people forget certain events that need to remain forgotten.”

Swanson frowned. “You wipe their memories just like that? Isn’t that against human rights and whatnot?”

“I think it’s a bit more complicated, Kathy,” Sara Lloyd intervened. “I believe it all depends on the dosage. Wiping someone’s memories clean wouldn’t serve their purposes. The sudden increase of completely amnesiac people would raise more attention than solve anything. They most likely wipe the short time memory of most recent events.”

Harkness looked at the tall, blonde woman with respect. “Exactly,” he said. “You’re one smart lady. I like brains in a woman.”

Lloyd shrugged. “I’m a _scientist_. It’s my job. They hire us at SOCO to figure out things like that, you know.”

“And this…” Cooper pointed at the formula on the screen, “this belongs to _us_? Whoever this killer is it's somebody we gave the amnesia pill to?”

“Looks like it, yeah,” Harkness answered grimly.

“That raises some interesting questions, though,” Lloyd turned to Dr. Harper. “Assuming that your magic compound _does_ work as intended, _is_ the killer remembering at all that he's a serial killer? Or…”

“Or is he becoming a serial killer _because_ of the amnesia pill?” the doctor finished for her. “Yeah, I see your point. In either case, we’re in trouble.”

“Wait a minute!” Cooper was still trying to wrap her micro-brain around the problem with very little success by the stupid look on her face. “I've taken Retcon…”

Harkness grinned. “Then better stay away from sharp objects.”

“This isn’t funny, Jack!” Cooper pouted. It looked horrible on her – like on a spoiled four-year-old.

“No,” Harkness answered, his voice growing cold all of the sudden. “You know what isn’t funny, Gwen? That the city is haunted by a crazed killer, and the only thing you can worry about is yourself. You got _one_ amnesia pill of the lowest dosage, for God’s sake!”

“So you believe whoever this killer is, he got overdosed?” Swanson asked, finally getting the picture. She’d decide whether this whole amnesia pill thing was possible or not later. Right now, they had a killer to catch.

Harkness nodded. “That’s the only possible explanation,” he turned to his clerk. “Ianto, how many people have we given amnesia pills to?”

The young man thought for a moment, then replied simply. “Two thousand and eight.”

“Shouldn’t you check your records first or whatnot?” Swanson asked with a frown.

“Not him,” Harkness said. “He’s got an eidetic memory; especially where written stuff is concerned. Comes in handy if you’re the archivist of a place like this.”

“However, sir,” the young man said, “I can only refer to the official reports from the time before I’ve taken over inventory. If someone had administered Retcon before my time and forgot to document it, I won’t know about it.”

“How long have you been working here?” Swanson asked.

“Less than a year, Detective,” the young man replied. “And Retcon had been used for decades before I came. So I can only guarantee for the time I’ve done the inventory.”

“Unless your records are incomplete,” Dr. Harper said.

Ianto Jones raised an eyebrow. “That’s highly unlikely, Owen, and you know that. In the unlikely case one of you had smuggled Retcon in _my_ coffee and manipulated the official inventory lists afterwards, I’d still have spotted the divergence between them and my hand-written record book. And it would take a _very_ skilled person to falsify my handwriting, if I may say so.”

“Especially as you use a fountain pen with very specific ink,” Harkness added.

“All right, all right, so Teaboy’s records are as spotless as always,” the doctor said impatiently. “So, if it isn’t him who overdoses people behind our backs, does it mean that every single one of those people we’ve given the amnesia pill can become psychotic without forewarning? Or all of them at the same time? Cos that could be a spectacular disaster.”

Toshiko Sato glared at him accusingly. “Do you have to sound so happy about that?”

The doctor shrugged. “I'm just saying…”

“No,” Ianto interrupted. “If Retcon would be causing psychoses, the problem would have emerged a long time ago. As long as it’s administered correctly, it shouldn’t have any side effects. As I said, it’s been used for decades, and there hasn’t been a single documented case of any problems.”

“Meaning?” Harkness asked.

“Meaning that we’re either looking for someone who’s been given the stuff for an extended period of time and in great quantities, and the killing spree is a result of the cumulative effect, or there’s a combination of factors that we still don’t know, and your amnesia pill is only part of the problem,” Sara Lloyd said in Ianto’s stead.

The young man nodded. “My thoughts exactly. I have no records of anyone getting Retconned more often than six or seven times, though. Whoever did this – _if_ we’re looking at a case of Retcon abuse at all, that is – it couldn’t have been authorized.”

“You mean that someone of my staff – one of _you_ – was illegally Retconning people behind my back?” Harkness asked incredulously.

Ianto shook his head. “Not necessarily, sir. We’re talking about cumulative effects here. May I remind you that under your predecessor things were handled with a good deal more paranoia involved? And since _my_ predecessor wasn’t responsible for Retcon inventory – that was something Alex Hopkins did strictly himself – we can’t be really sure if his records were always complete.”

“What do _you_ know about those times?” the doctor asked in the same hostile manner. Swanson wondered why the two young men so obviously didn’t get along.

“As you know by now, I’ve worked for Torchwood One,” Ianto answered. “I was a junior researcher, which means I switched from workplace to workplace until the area best suited to my abilities was found. Which, in my case, turned out to be the Archives, just six months prior to the destruction of Torchwood One. Accidentally, I’d been cataloguing the reports of other Torchwood branches for two months by then. So yes, I do know that Alex Hopkins was growing increasingly unstable before… well, before the tragic end of him and his entire staff.”

“What tragic end?” Swanson asked. Nobody answered, so she glared directly at Harkness. “ _What_ tragic end, Captain? Tell me. If this might in any way be connected to the murders, you don’t have the right to keep it from me.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Harkness said defensively. “It was an internal Torchwood affair and nobody else’s business.”

“Allow me to be the judge of _that_ ,” Swanson said dryly. “A crazed killer is on the loose because of your little internal secrets; I need to know what else is there, so that I can protect the people of this city… if I can.”

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Harkness threw his hands above his head in a gesture of utter frustration. Swanson just stared at him, unimpressed. “All right, all right! So, my predecessor had an inane fear of what might happen in the near future – and no, I still have no idea _what_ he was so afraid of – and in a bout of extreme paranoia he killed all his co-workers to ‘save’ them from that future. Including himself, in the end. I was the only survivor, as I wasn’t here at the time. Happy now?”

“No,” Swanson said. “I’d be very worried about myself if learning of such a tragedy would make me _happy_. But young Mr. Jones is right. If this predecessor of yours was so extremely unstable, he might have – what’s the term you use?”

“Retcon,” Ianto supplied. “Both for the compound _and_ the process.”

“Thank you. Yes, he might have Retconned a lot of people without entering this in his reports. This is not good, not good at all."

“Still, we ought to start somewhere,” Sara Lloyd said. “We can check out the people about whom you actually know they’ve been given the amnesia pill. We have a vague profile about the killer, too. Not a very precise one, granted, but it’s better than nothing.”

Harkness nodded. “Agreed. Tosh, narrow the list down to fit the profile, start checking them out fast as you can. Detective, there's got to be a link between the victims, something we’ve overlooked…”

“Find the link, find the killer,” Swanson finished for him. “I know my job, Captain. My team is already working on it. If we find anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” Harkness looked at the doctor. “Owen, we’ll need those autopsies done, as soon as you can do them. Perhaps Miss Lloyd could assist you?”

“ _Doctor_ Lloyd,” the blonde woman corrected. “But I’m a biochemist, not an OP assistant. I can try, of course – I’ve seen enough autopsies during my years at the CSI.”

“And I can use any help I get,” Dr. Harper replied in not-so-hidden relief.

”Jack, wait!” Cooper said, just when everyone was about to rise from their seats and actually _do_ something. “If there is a link, why don't we just ask the victims ourselves?”

Harkness threw her an annoyed look. “Not the right time for a séance, thank you very much,” he growled.

For one completely insane moment, Swanson suddenly had a vision of the Torchwood team, sitting in a darkened room, around a table, hands touching, and a veiled Gwen Cooper writhing and moaning with bulging eyes, trying to talk to dead spirits. She had a hard time to suppress a hysterical giggle – the mental image was just too hilarious to bear.

But, of course, things couldn’t be quite that simple. Not with Torchwood involved.

And, of course, Gwen-bloody-Cooper just couldn’t leave things alone – not that it would surprise Swanson. Not after all the stories that were cruising at the police station, due to Andy Davidson’s complaints.

”The first time I met Torchwood, you had that glove,” Cooper insisted. “We could…”

”No way!” Harkness snapped at her.

”Not after what it did to Suzie,” the doctor supported him.

”It brings people back to life, just for two minutes,” Cooper argued. “We could question the murder victims…”

“That's exactly what Suzie said,” the doctor interrupted. “She was one of us, we trusted her and now she's dead cos of that cursed thing.”

“Excuse me,” Swanson said, trying very, very hard not to freak out, “but what the hell _are_ you talking about? Necromancy? Black masses? Prehistoric Egyptian practices to raise the dead? Voodoo? Cos I’m getting the feeling like I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone here.”

“Nothing so fancy,” Harkness replied. “Just a piece of… well, largely unknown technology. Which is why it stays in the safe where it belongs. It has caused enough harm already.”

The doctor, Toshiko and Ianto nodded in agreement, clearly reflecting of some very bad memories. Cooper, though, still couldn’t let it be. She leaned over the table, aiming those bulging eyes at their boss.

”These murders are happening because of Torchwood!” she exclaimed in self-righteous outrage. "So Torchwood has got to do _something_.”

”And under _something_ you mean creating part-time zombies who most likely won’t tell us anything that solid, everyday police investigation wouldn’t uncover?” Harkness asked, dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, please somebody shoot me!”

“I’d be glad to,” Swanson replied. “Unfortunately, you didn’t allow me to bring in my gun.”

“Shooting him won’t do any good,” Ianto said, without attempting to explain that strange statement. “If I may point out something, though… Sir, in one thing Gwen’s right. The police might find the link we’re looking for – in fact, I don’t doubt that they will, eventually,” he added with an apologetic glance in Swanson’s direction, “but there’s the time factor to be considered. If we manage to find the link just a few hours earlier, it might save lives.”

“So you’re in favour of using the glove?” Harkness asked, clearly shocked by that possibility.

Ianto shook his head. “No, sir. To be honest, I find that a very bad idea; dangerous, too. But… it might be a necessary evil.”

“If we do that, in _their_ presence,” Harkness nodded in Swanson and Lloyd’s direction. “there will be no way back. They aren’t fools. They’ll figure out what Torchwood is all about. And under the given circumstances, Retconning them might not be a solution. Not until we learn more about the possible side effects.”

“I still don’t believe this whole thing is solely caused by Retcon,” Ianto answered. “But even if it is, what other choice do we have? Our job is to protect people from outside threats they don’t even know to exist – _that_ ’s what Torchwood is all about… even if _our_ work is part of that threat. We need to help, Jack. The police simply aren’t equipped to deal with this on their own.”

Harkness looked at the doctor and Toshiko, studiously avoiding Cooper’s would-be-hypnotic glare.

“Tosh? Owen? What do you think?”

The doctor shook his head empathically. “No, Jack,” he said simply. “That’s a can of worms that shouldn’t be opened again.”

Toshiko looked uncomfortable but didn’t back off. “I, too, would hate to see that thing at work, but perhaps we should give it a try,” she said.

“Wait a minute,” Swanson interrupted. “What thing? What kind of technology could raise the dead, even for only two minutes?”

Harkness sighed and looked at her in defeat.

“Come down with us into the autopsy bay and I’ll show you,” he said.


	3. Part Three

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 08 – SUZIE IS FREAKING HARD TO KILL, Part 3**

The autopsy bay of Torchwood had the depressing uniformity of all such places, and Swanson wondered briefly what it told about her, to visit a completely strange base and finding the only place that looked familiar the morgue. Had the job twisted her beyond repair already? She exchanged a look with Lloyd and had the impression the blonde SOCO officer was asking herself the same thing.

All such thoughts were instantly forgotten, though, when Harkness walked in with a transparent storage box – one thoroughly sealed – containing a strange metallic glove. It looked like the protective gauntlet of a medieval knight, riveted together from segmented metal plates… with the significant difference that it was made of metal on the palm side, too. Swanson was no medievalist, but she was sure protective gauntlets weren’t meant to be made like that. The knight wouldn’t have been able to hold any weapons wearing such a glove. No, this thing had a very different purpose… one the thought of which made her very uncomfortable, even though she still doubted that it was possible at all.

“What is this thing?” she asked, while Harkness was unsealing the box to take out the glove. “Where’s it come from?”

“We haven’t got a clue,” Harkness replied. “It just appeared out of nowhere about forty years ago. Lay at the bottom of the Bay till we dredged it up,” he held up the glove, and Swanson realized with a deep-rooted feeling of dread that the fingers of the thing were slightly moving on their own. “I always figured, this wasn't just lost. Whoever made it, wanted rid of it.”

“I can’t say I blame them,” Swanson commented, shivering for a moment. “It reminds me too much of some bad B-movie. _Behold the Gauntlet of Doom_ – or something like that.”

“It’s not a gauntlet,” Dr. Harper said. “It’s a fucking _glove_.”

Swanson shrugged. “Semantics. Don’t tell me you even have a name for the thing.”

“Actually,” the doctor said, as if the thought had just occurred to him, "we never gave it a cool name. Which is a shame, if you think about it.”

”I thought we called it the resurrection glove?” Toshiko said.

The doctor gave her a disdainful look. “ _Cool_ name,” he emphasized.

”What about the Risen Mitten?” Ianto asked. Everyone looked at him rather strangely. He shrugged. “I think it's catchy.”

“ _Catchy_ ,” Swanson repeated. “You people are beyond weird, you know that? Disturbingly so.”

”That’s Torchwood for you,” Harkness replied nonchalantly. “All right, kids, let’s do this before I change my mind. Owen, get me the first corpse. Ianto, catch!”

He tossed something that looked like a stopwatch to his clerk who caught it without even looking. Either he had supreme hand-eye coordination, or the two had trained to do this for quite some time. Swanson shook her head. That had to be a trademark Harkness thing, if the stories were true; to go for the flashy effect, even in the morgue. Not exactly the finest taste…

Dr. Harper pulled a tray with a corpse out of one of the morgue freezers and placed it on the autopsy table. The body bag had already been removed, and Swanson recognized the victim from the previous day. Torchwood certainly hadn’t wasted any time to get the corpses transferred to them… just how far up _did_ their connections reach?

The Torchwood team surrounded the autopsy table, save Toshiko, who was sitting at a computer terminal a little on the side. Everyone seemed to know their place, with the exception of Cooper who was just standing there uselessly, getting into everyone’s way and making cow eyes at her boss.

“Jack,” she asked, trying that understanding look that never really worked on her. “You okay?”

 _Yeah, as okay as anyone could be shortly before trying to raise a murdered man with the help of a cursed gauntlet… pardon, magical glove_ , Swanson thought, taken aback by the sheer stupidity of the question. Why kept people asking things like that in situations where it was glaringly obvious that the other person was _not_ all right anyway?

Harkness ignored the question, focusing on the task ahead of him. He didn’t seem happy about it, and Swanson didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t have wanted to play the role of the zombie-maker, either.

“Don't forget, the maximum resurrection time is two minutes,” he said, pulling on the glove. “And even that's only cos Suzie had practice. The most we're likely to get is thirty seconds, okay? Tosh, you ready?”

“Ready and recording,” Toshiko replied from her computer. “This man was victim number one. Name – Alex Arwyn.”

Harkness laid his gloved hand on the dead man’s hand and concentrated. His face got distorted as if in pain.

“Come on, Alex!” he growled through gritted teeth. “Come back.”

Cooper pushed closer and stared at him with unnaturally wide eyes. “How does it work?” she asked.

Harkness tried not to lose his focus, which, having his concentration broken by another stupid question, couldn’t have been easy.

“You just sort of feel,” he replied with a shrug. “Like… reaching into the dark. Finding the dead… That sort of thing.”

Okay, that sounded dangerously like a quote from some _really_ trashy B-movie. Swanson seriously doubted that the whole thing was even possible, unless everyone was stoned or drugged. Still, there was a certain… expectant look on the faces of the Torchwood team, as if they’d done this before. Well, perhaps they practiced LSD-orgies together or something like that. It would explain a lot.

Suddenly Harkness cried out in pain and yanked off the glove, which was making weird electrical noises, throwing sparkles all around.

“Damn!” he shook his hand as if the glove had burned it. “Nothing! Sorry. Never was very good with this thing. Owen?”

The doctor shook his head. “I tried last time. We all had a go, but it only ever responded to Suzie.”

“Well, _I never_ had a go,” Cooper said.

The others exchanged exasperated looks. Swanson was sorely tempted to do the same with Lloyd.

“It wouldn’t do us much good,” Harkness finally said. “The glove relies on some sort of empathy. Maybe compassion, I dunno. Neither of which seems really your forte...”

“Because it’s _yours_ isn’t it?” Cooper returned. “Or Owen’s right?”

“Well it is certainly Tosh’s, and the glove didn’t respond to her, either,” Ianto pointed out, giving Toshiko a slight smile.

“Cos you can’t open yourselves to it,” Cooper said in a patronizing tone. “Suzie explained it all to me before her death. You've got to get inside this stuff. Surrender yourself to it. As she did, with the knife, and the glove, and that's why even the perception filter didn’t work on her. She told me, cos she knew I’d understand. She knew I’d be able to work with the glove, perhaps better than she could; cos I do have empathy.”

 _The empathy of a brick wall hitting a crippled child in a wheelchair_ , Swanson thought, and once again, she resisted the urge to look at Lloyd. Laughing at the resident fool would have been… counterproductive in an already tense situation like this.

“Let her give it a try, Jack,” Toshiko said. “What do we have to lose?”

After a moment of hesitation Harkness picked up the glove and held it out to Cooper.

“Be careful,” he said. “It warms up when it connects. And… oh, just be yourself! Ianto, Tosh, are you ready?” The two nodded. “All right, Gwen, go on!”

Cooper put on the glove and reached out, touching the dead man’s head tentatively. There had to be some connection established, because she gasped, her eyes grew to a disturbing size, her mouth hung open.

Ianto clicked the stopwatch, and it started ticking above the beeping noises of the computer as it was recording the experiment.

Suddenly the dead man began to trash on the tray. His eyes opened, and he stared into the air blindly, clearly not realizing where he was and what was happening to him.

“Somebody help me!” he cried out in despair. “Oh, my God, help me, help me, help me!”

Harkness leaned over him and tried to force him to meet his eyes. “Alex!” he said urgently. “I need you to listen to me.”

But the previously dead man didn’t listen – which, if one considered what his last memory had to be, wasn’t all that surprising. “Somebody help! Help me!” he begged, still staring into the air with unseeing eyes.

“That's what we're doing!” Harkness said with forced patience, and Swanson rolled her eyes, because honestly, it was _not_ what they were doing. Not with knowing the man wouldn’t last more than two minutes or so. “Alex, you were attacked. Do you know who it was? Who attacked you!?” Harkness insisted.

The victim finally took notice of his presence and looked at him in confusion. “Who are you?”

“How long?” Dr. Harper asked Ianto _sotto voce_.

“Fifteen seconds,” Ianto replied quietly.

“Where am I?” the victim demanded. Looking up into Cooper’s face above him, he added in even more confusion. “Who are you?” 

_Yeah, not something one would wish to see on his deathbed… or in the afterlife_, Swanson thought sarcastically.

“I'm just I'm just trying to help, sweetheart,” Cooper whined. “I'm just trying to help.”

Swanson was thoroughly disgusted by all this hypocrisy. Help? Dragging someone back from death just to squeeze information out of him was what Torchwood considered _help_? She felt the sudden urge to become violently sick… but that wouldn’t be very professional.

It didn’t seem as if the victim would have wanted any of that _help_ , either. He had more urgent things to worry about.

“I want my Mum,” he begged. “Please! Let me see my Mu... “ he trailed off and went completely blank. Something – perhaps the heart monitor – beeped a few times. Then, after a prolongated beep, it went blank, too.

“He's gone,” Dr. Harper commented with a sigh. Swanson was grateful for that. The whole scene upset her stomach more than everything had in her entire life.

Cooper, however, refused to listen, as always. “Let me keep trying,” she insisted.

The doctor rolled his eyes. “Gwen, he's _dead_.”

”But I can bring him back!” Cooper said stubbornly. “I’ve just done it, haven’t you seen?”

Harkness shook his head. “The glove only works once on any given person. Not even Suzie…”

”But I can do it,” Cooper interrupted him. “Just let me try. I haven’t failed, not like the rest of you… you’ve seen it, right?”

”Gwen,” Harkness said slowly, deliberately. “Look at me. He's _gone_.”

Cooper glared at him defiantly for a while – then her shoulders sagged and she pulled the glove away. It gave a strange buzzing noise.

”That was amazing,” Ianto commented, checking the stopwatch. “She's a natural. Twenty-four seconds!”

Apparently, the glove was unable to tell idiotic sappiness from true compassion. Dr. Harper must have thought something similar, because he shot their office boy a disgusted look. “Give Ianto a stopwatch, and he's happy.”

Ianto gave him a bland, I’m-talking-to-an-idiot receptionist smile. “It's the button on the top,” he deadpanned.

Swanson and Lloyd raised identical eyebrows and exchanged looks of exasperation. These Torchwood people were all _way_ beyond weird. Raising the dead, questioning the victim about his killer – and then making idiotic jokes? That was immature on a level that didn’t even count anymore.

Of course, the whole raising the dead part had already removed the whole situation from the level of sane discussions, so it probably wasn’t an issue. Or it was a way of self-protection. If they did things like this on a daily basis, they _would_ need an outlet, no matter how tasteless.

On the other hand, Swanson thought, what did it tell about _her_ that she was even considering _anybody_ raising the dead on a daily basis? Has the collective Torchwood madness already contaminated _her_ brain as well? How could anyone consider such things as _normal_ to begin with?

Well, Torchwood apparently could. Harkness was looking at Cooper, and there was challenge in his eyes.

”Well, what do you think, Gwen?” he asked. “Do you want to stop?”

Anyone who knew Gwen Cooper longer than two days could have told him that she _wouldn’t_ stop. Hell, she didn’t even _know_ how to stop! Harkness was still speaking when she had already resettled the glove.

“Go on,” she said confidently. “I can do this.”

”Recording,” Toshiko announced from her desk, while Dr. Harper was wheeling forth the next corpse. “Victim number two – Mark Briscoe.”

Cooper repeated the weird head-grasping gesture… and began to moan. Literally. It was… well, _disturbing_.

”Oh God, I can feel him,” she gasped. “It's like a rope from my heart to the glove... Oh, it's so _warm_.”

Was she having an orgasm from getting connected with the dead man’s spirit? Swanson wondered. Did that count as necrophilia? Well, in any case, the dead guy did open his eyes and whispered something unintelligible.

As before, Harkness took the initiative to question him. “Hey, there. Just look at me. Look me in the eye. That's it.”

”Where am I?” the dead man whispered.

”You've been hurt,” Harkness replied. “We don't have long; we need to know who attacked you.”

Once again, the victim wasn’t really listening to him. “Is my wife all right?” he asked.

Harkness nodded. “We're looking after her,” he replied, which was a blatant lie, as Mrs Brisco was lying in the morgue, just like her temporarily reanimated husband. “Now Mark, who was it?”

”It was that man,” the victim muttered distractedly. “He belonged to Pilgrim, he went to Pilgrim.”

Harkness glanced at Toshiko who shook her head, signalling that she had no idea who or what Pilgrim might be. So he turned back to the victim. “What's Pilgrim?” he asked.

But the victim was preoccupied with his last memories. “Oh my God, he had a knife!”

Harkness tried to calm him down. “No, Mark, he's gone, we don't have long, quickly, what was his name?”

”Thirty-five seconds,” Ianto warned them from the background.

”Max,” the victim whispered. “Never knew his surname.”

Toshiko was typing away on her keyboard furiously. “Trying Pilgrim and Max, get a description.”

Harkness nodded his understanding and leaned over the victim. “You gotta give us something more so we can catch him,” he insisted.

”He's going!” Dr. Harper, who was checking the man’s vitals – or what counted as vitals when the patient was dead already – warned.

”There was... There was someone who knew him better...” the victim whispered. “That woman... She was always talking to him...”

”What was her name?” Harkness asked.

The victim wasn’t listening. “Where's my wife?”

”Her name!” Harkness shouted with an intensity that captured the dying man’s attention one last time.

”Suzie,” he replied, just before his face went slack again.

The shocked face of everyone but Ianto around the autopsy table told Swanson that this time they really were on at something.

The heart monitor beeped a few times, then gave one last, prolongated beep and went blank.

“One minute five seconds,” Ianto said, clicking the stopwatch.

”Jack?” Toshiko whispered. “Did I hear that right?”

”Could be anyone,” Dr. Harper commented. “There must be lots of women called Suzie.”

Harkness shook his head. “Not connected to this case,” he said. “We've been talking to the wrong corpse.”

 _The wrong corpse?_ How many dead people did they plan to revive in one day?

“Well, that went well,” Lloyd commented, after the corpses had been put back into the freezer units. “Any more tricks up your sleeve, Captain Harkness?”

The Torchwood leader didn’t answer. But he looked concerned. Way too concerned for Swanson’s comfort. There was something he wasn’t telling her, of that she was certain – but somehow she didn’t think he’d tell it her just now. Later, perhaps, if she played her cards right. But that was okay. She could play this game with the best.

“I guess good old police investigation ought to take over from here,” she said. “We’ll go through the Briscoes’ house with the fine-toothed comb. See if we find anything about this Pilgrim, whatever it might be.”

“I’ve run a thorough search on the Net and haven’t found anything,” Toshiko protested.

Swanson shrugged. “Strange as it may seem to you, Miss Sato, not everyone lives their lives online. Some people actually meet in the flesh; _talk_ to each other… that sort of old-fashioned thing. If the Briscoes have anything to do with this Pilgrim, there might be evidence in their house.”

“If there is any, I want to see it,” Harkness said.

Swanson nodded. “Sure. _If_ you tell me everything about this Suzie. And I _mean_ everything. Or the deal is off; and don’t believe me you can force me to co-operate by calling my boss.”

“Do you really think you can lay down the law for Torchwood, Detective?” Cooper asked smugly.

“No,” Swanson replied, “but I know people who can. I know about UNIT, Captain Harkness. One of our technicians went to work for them. I can place a call; cause you all kinds of small but pesky inconveniences if I have to. The question is – will it be necessary?”


	4. Chapter 4

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 08 – SUZIE IS FREAKING HARD TO KILL, Part 4**

Needless to say that Swanson didn’t have to place that call to UNIT – not that it would have helped her a lot, most likely, but Harkness couldn’t know _that_. So he reluctantly agreed to keep cooperating with the police, and Swanson, in return, agreed to share with him all the results of the police investigation.

She sent Lloyd back to her lab to establish a secure link to Toshiko’s computer, so that they could transfer data immediately. She remained in the Hub herself, though, to keep an eye on the Torchwood gang, in case they’d try to keep something – _anything_! – from her again. She sat with Harkness in their conference room, was served the best coffee on the planet by Ianto Jones, who seemed to be responsible for just about everything that was going on in the Hub, and needled Harkness for some information about the infamous Suzie.

“Suzie Costello was my second-in-command,” Harkness explained, nursing his own coffee, which was served him in a ridiculous, blue-and-white striped mug. “She was a skilled engineer and an able scientists; could make just about everything work. Unfortunately, that proved to be her downfall. After a while, she’s got so obsessed with alien technology…”

“Wait a minute!” Swanson interrupted. “Have you just said _alien technology_? As in science fiction?”

“No,” Harkness replied grimly. “As in reality, although I don’t expect you to believe it at once. Fact is, though, that Torchwood has been founded by Queen Victoria with the exact purpose to protect the British Empire against alien threats. The big guns were in London, of course – our branch was just a small monitoring station, established to watch the space-time Rift under Cardiff.”

“A… space-time Rift,” Swanson repeated slowly.

Harkness nodded. “Yeah. It’s possibly been there since the dawn of time – we don’t really know for how long. It’s only been discovered after the foundation of the Torchwood Institute, some two hundred years ago. Torchwood Three has been watching it ever since.”

“So there are more places like this, then?”

“Well, not at the moment, not really. Torchwood One was destroyed in the Battle of Canary Wharf…” he trailed off, and Swanson nodded, signalling that she had the clearance to that information. Harkness continued. “There wasn’t much left of it. Ianto is one of the only twenty-seven survivors out of eight hundred and some. Torchwood Two is in Glasgow, but it’s just an office, run by a strange little man. Torchwood Four has gone missing somehow – we’ve no idea how. So, basically, we’re the only branch that’s still operational, and with the loss of Torchwood London, we’re the headquarters, too, in all but name.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Swanson asked.

“Cos you need to understand that this isn’t a simple murder case we’re trying to solve here,” Harkness replied. “That glove; it fell through the Rift, like a great deal of other things we’re using. We don’t really know how to use it, what its original purpose was or what else it can do. Suzie was obsessed with it; thought she could learn how to use it to _help_ people… perhaps the regular connection with it clouded her mind. I don’t know.”

“Does it work with all dead people?” Swanson asked, steadfastly refusing to even consider the surreality of her own question.

Harkness shrugged. “Theoretically… yeah. But it works with fresh corpses best, especially when they fell victim to violent crimes.”

“Like getting murdered, you mean?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, when Suzie realized that, she was already so obsessed with the bloody thing that she began… well, she saw to it that she’d have the right kind of corpses to her disposal, so that she could work with the glove.”

Several things made suddenly _click_ in Swanson’s mind at the same time. Again, she had the urge to get violently sick. It seemed to become a tendency when dealing with Torchwood.

“Good Lord!” she whispered. “The serial killer a few months ago… right before Cooper would join you lot… that was this Suzie?”

Harkness nodded unhappily. “Afraid so. We’d have needed a lot more time to catch her, had Gwen not been so very stubborn… granted, the fact that I screwed up her Retcon dosage played a small role, too. It’s usually Ianto who administers it; he’s been thoroughly schooled at Torchwood One at it. In any case, when Suzie realised she’d been found out, she tried to shoot me in the head and to kill Gwen, too. I had no other choice than to execute her.”

 _Execute_. Swanson shivered. That had such a nasty sound to it.

“So, you’re the judge, the jury _and_ the executioner?” she asked.

“When it comes to Torchwood personnel… yeah, I am,” Harkness replied calmly. “But in Suzie’s case, it was a split-second decision, really. I had to shoot her before she could shoot me… or Gwen.”

“And now you intend to _talk_ to her?” Swanson said, with emphasis on the seemingly impossible word. “Isn’t she buried already? Do you need permission to exhume her?”

Harkness shook his head. “Torchwood personnel don’t get buried. The corpses of all Torchwood agents killed in action – or otherwise – are kept in cryogenic suspension under the Hub.”

Swanson felt her stomach turn upside down. “You mean you lot work on top of frozen corpses?”

Harkness nodded. “Basically… yes. Deceased colleagues, captured aliens, victims of alien attacks – all kind of corpses that would be hard to explain to the authorities.”

“I understand the part with the frozen aliens and their victims; they’d cause a bit of uproar in a cemetery,” Swanson said slowly. “But why your colleagues? Don’t they deserve a decent funeral?”

“Rules and regulations,” Harkness replied with a shrug. “I reckon the original reason must have been that the cause of their death would have been hard to explain, too. Especially that one could role out most natural causes,” he added grimly. “Torchwood agents tend to die young. Way too young, if you ask me.”

“It’s still sick,” Swanson declared in disgust.

“Perhaps,” Harkness allowed. “I don’t make the rules, you know.”

“But you could change them, now that you are the boss of the whole organization,” Swanson pointed out.

Harkness sighed. “It’s not that simple…”

“Of course not,” Swanson agreed. “If it _were_ simple, every idiot could have changed them already. And you aren’t just every idiot, are you, Captain Harkness?”

“I’m trying not to be,” he replied with a thin smile, so different from his usual shit-eating grin. Then he rose. “Well, Detective, you’ve promised me to have the Briscoes’ home searched, and I’ve promised you an explanation. From where I’m standing, I’ve already upheld my end of the bargain. Your turn now.”

“Sure thing,” Swanson finished her coffee and stood, too. “A team is already working on it; and Lloyd is cataloguing the founds. I only hope we actually _do_ find something useful before another person gets killed.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was late night when Kathy Swanson returned to the Torchwood base to discuss the results. Ianto came to fetch her and brought her down to the Hub via invisible lift. The whole team was still in there. They were dedicated to their work, she had to give them that much. Cooper was whining to her boyfriend on the phone about late working hours, of course, but none of the others seemed to have similar problems. They were clearly all lone wolves, with no life outside of Torchwood. Perhaps it was a requirement to do a job like theirs.

They gathered in the meeting room again – with the exception of Toshiko who was waiting for some results to be mailed her from the SOCO lab. Ianto walked around and served everyone coffee, which the Torchwood gang drank in delight, despite the late hour.

“Not for me, thanks,” Swanson said. “I wouldn’t sleep for days if I drank coffee in the middle of the night.”

“Would you work here, you wouldn’t _get_ to sleep for days, as a rule,” Dr. Harper told her dryly. “To survive Torchwood, you must have coffee every hour of the day. So, what did your minions found out about this Pilgrim stuff?”

“Lloyd will have already sent it to Miss Sato’s computer,” Swanson replied. “If it truly has something to do with the murder cases, then it’s the oddest connection I’ve seen in my entire career.”

Harkness looked over to Toshiko. “Well, Tosh?”

Toshiko checked her e-mail and found the attachment, which she opened and printed out in three copies at once.

“Here,” she said, handing one copy to Swanson and one to Harkness. She kept the third one, despite Cooper trying to get it from her. “Pilgrim. A religious support group, more like a debating society, meaning of life, does God exist? All that stuff. The point is, it was tiny, more like a hobby, run by Mark Briscoe's wife, Sarah.” She looked at Swanson. “You were right. She had all that stashed in the wardrobe. Handwritten and photocopied, that's why we couldn't find any records, she wasn't even online.”

Her voice had an incredulous undertone, as were such complete internet ignorance beyond her understanding. Swanson suppressed a smile. The girl was a nerd, but a cute one. No wonder Andy Davidson was so smitten with her that could barely talk about anything else during coffee breaks.

“Some people are simply conservative, Miss Sato,” she said gently.

Toshiko blushed and looked at her shoes. Apparently, the thought of looking such outdated things wouldn’t have occurred to her. A disadvantage when someone was technically savvy.

“No mention of Suzie, or Max?” There was a strange, almost paternal smile on his face as he looked at their resident nerd. _He must like the girl very much_ , Swanson realized.

Toshiko shook her head. “Not a word. She didn't even keep a register!” she added, a little accusingly. Swanson suppressed another smile at this display of insulted professionalism. Torchwood's little genius was really, really cute.

“It wouldn't be _our_ Suzie, though,” Dr. Harper said with a frown. “She wouldn't go to that support group bollocks.”

“How do you know?” Cooper asked, with an accusatory overtone in her whiny voice. “I mean, were you friends? Any of you? Who was her best friend in this place?”

“We come here to _work_ , Gwen,” Toshiko murmured. “Not to hold hands and ‘share our feelings”, as it seems to be such a popular thing nowadays. Torchwood isn’t about the buddy system or group therapy.”

“Besides, she sort of kept herself to herself,” Dr. Harper shrugged; then he added with a nasty smirk. “Aside from the times when she felt like having sex. In those times we could get _really_ close.”

That little piece of information apparently shocked Cooper, if her slack jaw was any indication. So much, that Swanson began to suspect that she might have had something with the acerbic doctor – or still had, despite making cow eyes at her boss all the time. But that wasn’t really surprising. She’d been cheating on that besotted boyfriend of hers while still with the police… and expecting her part-time shags to remain absolutely faithful. _Speak about double morale!_ In any case, she was staring daggers at their doctor – who couldn’t care less – and said in a lecturing tone.

“Well, then, if she needed to talk, maybe that's exactly where she'd go, a group of complete strangers. Since she couldn’t talk to anyone _here_.”

The facial expressions of her colleagues would have been worth a Polaroid; Swanson truly regretted not having a camera with her. Harkness was clearly taken aback, Toshiko hurt, Dr. Harper thoroughly disgusted, and Ianto – well, Ianto simply rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Surprisingly enough, he was the first to reply, though.

“ _Talking_ is what gets you Retconned in record time here,” he said with a bland smile.

Harkness nodded. “How very true! Still she’s got a point. Time we got to know our deceased colleague a little better.”

“Which means… what exactly?” Swanson asked in suspicion.

“We’ll go through her stuff and look after any clues that might connect her to Pilgrim,” Ianto explained.

Gwen gave him a nasty look. “I thought cataloguing was _your_ job here,” she said with false sweetness.

“It is,” Ianto replied, completely unfazed by her hostility. “But I’ve got a backlog of several years – nobody has touched the Archives since 1999, and potentially dangerous alien artefacts have priority. You can help me with the less important stuff, though, if you’re not satisfied with the speed I work.”

“I would strongly advise against letting her into your Archives,” Swanson said. “She used to turn the filing cabinet at the police station upside down and inside out every time she laid a hand on it. The desk sergeant officially requested that she wouldn’t be allowed to go there anymore.”

Cooper became beet red with anger, while Toshiko gigged softly, and Ianto’s eyes gained a certain manic gleam. Before the really big fight could have broken loose, though, Harkness raised a warning hand.

“Girls, stop the hair-pulling; we have things to do. Ianto, where have Suzie’s things gone?”

After a moment of thinking, Ianto gave him the address off the top of his head. Swanson groaned. She knew the place: rows over rows of garages to rent, in one of the ugliest parts of Cardiff… and that by stormy rain tonight!

Harkness caught her expression and grinned. “You can wait here for us if you want,” he offered.

Swanson gave him a quelling look. “In your fevered dreams, Captain America! We’re knee deep in this shit together; we’ll finish it together, too!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 _Rain. Tarmac. Garages_ , Swanson thought in disgust. _Night in Cardiff. How very romantic – not! How very typical. It seems most of my nights are spent in this manner nowadays; it’s downright frustrating_. She loved her hometown like the next patriot, but even she had to admit that Cardiff at night – and in rain – wasn’t the most inviting of places.

Harkness held out his hand to Ianto, who laid the key onto his palm. They functioned like a well-oiled clockwork together, without the need of words. Harkness opened the garage, and they all walked in. Swanson looked around at the carton boxes piled atop of each other along the walls.

“She’d got a lot of stuff,” she commented.

Cooper, too, looked around, her eyes widening and her lower lip trembling demonstratively.

“Have I got this right?” she whined, her voice rising in pitch steadily. “When I die, you get to keep all my possessions? My whole life's gonna get stashed in a locker?”

Harkness shrugged, clearly not in the mood for her antics. “Rules and regulations,” he replied curtly.

“The most common thing between Torchwood and eternal damnation,” Ianto deadpanned. “Once you’ve signed your soul over, the company has ownership, forever.”

Toshiko giggled, but Cooper apparently didn’t find the situation the least funny.

“What if I leave all my stuff to Rhys?” she demanded.

Harkness looked at her with obvious impatience. “We'll stash _him_ away, too,” he snapped. Then he turned to the others and his eyes darkened in sorrow. “Tread carefully, people. With respect. This is the life of Suzie Costello.”

They swarmed out in the different parts of the garage and started shuffling though the boxes and papers. Swanson joined Toshiko.

“Is it true?” she asked quietly. Toshiko nodded.

“That's all we are, in the end,” she replied. “A pile of boxes.”

“Shouldn’t they warn you about that when they hire you?” Swanson asked with a displeased frown. This was too close to grave robbing for her taste.

“They do, of course,” Ianto commented, walking by with a book which he handed to Harkness. “It’s usually helpful to _read_ the contract before signing it, though,” he added with a meaningful glance in Cooper’s direction.

Toshiko was practically diving into one of the boxes headfirst, to keep her giggling fit under control. Fortunately, Cooper hadn’t heard Ianto’s comment. Her one-track mind was currently on the track of Suzie Costello – and Torchwood’s apparent failure to understand the homicidal woman.

“Is her father still alive?” she asked.

“Don't know,” Toshiko replied absent-mindedly, shuffling through the various flyers that were stashed in the box. Swanson wondered why anyone – in this case most likely Ianto – would bother to keep that sort of junk. But perhaps Torchwood had special regulations about what should be kept from the possession of a dead ex-member.

“But you must've looked him up?” Cooper demanded. “To tell him his daughter was dead?”

Toshiko refused to look at her; a reaction that Swanson could relate to all too well. Such a self-righteous little shit! Who’d died and made her the moral compass of the world?

“When Suzie left Torchwood, she was on the run,” Toshiko explained with forced patience, while still sorting out the flyers. “She wiped all her records. I couldn't retrieve her files, she was good at computers. Huh... She was good at _everything_.”

“She was good at murder too,” Dr. Harper commented cynically. “Laugh a minute, that was our Suzie.”

Cooper opened and closed her mouth several times, making an amazing irritation of a particularly stupid blowfish, but couldn’t come up with any snarky reply. So she turned to Harkness, glaring at the book in his hand.

“What's that?”

“A book,” Harkness answered blandly. “Emily Dickinson.”

“A poet,” Ianto offered helpfully, blithely ignoring Cooper’s death glare. “Though I can’t see how it might help us – not yet anyway.”

“She might have simply liked her poems,” Swanson suggested. It was a bit unlikely by what she’d learned about Suzie so far, but she’d seen crazed killers before who at the same time were dripping with sentimentality.

“No,” Ianto said. “Her favourite poet was Omar Khayyam.”

Cooper gave him an unfriendly look. “I thought nobody knew a thing about her private life.”

Ianto shrugged. “We don’t. But she had a copy of his collected poems on her desk all the time. I might not know much about what she did after work, but I know _everything_ that’s going on in the Hub.”

“Not _everything_ , it seems,” Cooper returned nastily. “You didn’t know she was killing all those people.”

Ianto shrugged again. “She wasn’t killing them _within_ the Hub.”

“Jack!” Toshiko interrupted them, waving with a handful of flyers. They looked the same as the ones from Sarah Briscoe’s wardrobe. “Pilgrim. She was part of it.”

Harkness nodded. “Well, that proves it, then. No choice. It's time Suzie came back.”


	5. Part Five

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 08 – SUZIE IS FREAKING HARD TO KILL, Part 5**

Detective Swanson was more than a little freaked out as she followed the Torchwood crowd down to their morgue again. It was a long room, with lots and lots of drawers in several rows, each drawer labelled with either a name or a description in some weird jargon. She tried _not_ to think about who – or _what_ – might lie frozen in those drawers. It was better for her sanity… or for what was left of it anyway. Somehow she had the nagging suspicion that nobody can be affiliated with Torchwood for the long run and remain completely sane.

Harkness pulled out one of the drawers in the middle let, revealing a corpse in a body bag. He opened the bag to look into the face of a dead woman within. Swanson couldn1t resist the urge to peek a little. She tiptoed closer to take a look at the infamous Suzie – and was impressed.

Suzie Costello couldn’t have been a beautiful woman while still alive; not even pretty, in the conventional sense of the word, not in the surgically enhanced Barbie-doll-interpretation of the twenty-first century. Her face, calm and serene in death, was fine-boned and hollow-cheeked, but her features too strong, too proud, too scornful for most people’s taste. She must have been a strong-willed, determined person, probably fierce of nature and lonely by her own choice. She didn’t seem like someone who’d make any compromises.

Unfortunately, she’d also been an obsessed killer, who’d murdered several people, just to test the working of a piece of alien tech, Swanson reminded herself. Sympathy was a misguided thing concerning her. And yet, her exotic features still mirrored a personality that, under different circumstances, Swanson would find appealing.

And Harkness had hired Cooper to replace _this_ woman? Perhaps being _with_ Torchwood made people turn insane even faster and more completely than just being affiliated with the organization.

“Let’s take her to the autopsy room,” Harkness said, breaking the silence, and Ianto moved in to assist him. Strangely enough, their doctor seemed the most uncomfortable with both the situation and the person in the body bag.

Cooper was already waiting for them, fiddling with the glove. When Suzie’s corpse was laid onto the autopsy table, she just stared at it, widening her eyes in an overdue display of emotion until they threatened to roll out of her skull, shivering demonstratively.

“Do we all get frozen?” she wined, her chin trembling like that of a petulant child. “Torchwood staff, when we die, do we all get kept?”

Harkness shrugged, clearly fed up with her antics. “Rules and regulations.”

”How long for?” Cooper insisted, as if it would really matter to somebody who was already dead.

”Forever,” Harkness replied with a little eyebrow flash. The others made a suspiciously grave face, as if they’d fight a grin; with the exception of Dr. Harper, who looked positively scared.

Toshiko, fumbling with a computer tablet, looked at Harkness. “Recording.”

”Have you got your stopwatch?” the doctor asked Ianto, who gave him a bland look.

”Always.”

”I'll record from my station,” Toshiko announced determinedly. “I'm sorry, but I don't want to look her in the eye. Sorry.”

She left the room, a little bit awkwardly, and the others became very silent at once.

”Anyone else?” Harkness asked, looking at Ianto, who looked at the doctor. The doctor avoided their eyes but didn’t move.

”Any advice?” Cooper asked; then she laughed nervously. “Yeah, I know. Empathy. Even though she did try to kill me.”

Swanson wished the dead woman had been a better shot. Or whatever means she might have tried to get rid of Cooper.

”You and me both,” Harkness reminded her, “now go on!”

Like before, Cooper grabbed the corpse’s head… and gasped loudly, making Swanson wonder if she could truly feel anything or was just acting. In the latter case, it wasn’t an award-winning performance.

The computer began to beep.

”I'm getting a reading,” the doctor reported excitedly. There was some more beeping, and then his face fell. “No, it's gone...”

Cooper was still panting heavily, like some talent-free porn actress in the middle of the act, her eyes so wide open they looked completely white, her face crunched up in a fairly ridiculous manner. If there had ever been gratuitous over-acting… Swanson shook her head, hoping that the whole thing will be over, soon.

“Have you seen anything?” Harkness asked urgently.

”Just... memories,” Cooper’s breathing was still unnecessarily laboured. “Nothing living. She's too far gone.”

Toshiko peered down from her computer station. “So, what do we do now?”

Harkness shrugged in defeat… or perhaps in relief, it was hard to tell. “Nothing we can do. That's it. We're out of options.”

“So, are we just giving up or what?” Dr. Harper didn’t seem happy with that option.

Harkness gave him a flat look. “I thought you were against the whole thing.”

“I was,” the doctor replied. “But we’ve come so far, we ought to go all the way.”

Harkness raised an eyebrow. “Any suggestions?”

”There's always the knife,” the doctor replied. “When she killed all those people, she always used the knife.

“Why would she always use the same weapon?” Swanson wondered. “Did it have some significance for her?”

“Not that we’d know of it,” the doctor said with a shrug. “But it's made out of the same metal as the glove, so perhaps _that_ matters somehow.”

Harkness glanced up at Toshiko. “What do you think, Tosh?”

Clearly, the Japanese girl was the brains of the team. Andy Davidson had not been exaggerating about her smartness.

”It’s possible,” Toshiko replied. “We've seen it before: metallic resonance. Perhaps the glove does work better if the knife's part of the process. Like closing a circuit.”

Cooper’s eyes grew glassy as she listened to the explanation, of which she obviously didn’t understand a word. She seemed to see where the whole thing was going, and so she saw herself entitled to an opinion.

”Then let's use it!” she prompted. She was awfully eager to bring back a woman whom she supposedly hated.

Harkness looked at her as one would look at a particularly slow-witted child.

“Small detail, Gwen,” he said with forced patience. “The knife was used to _kill_ people. She's already _dead_.”

“All right,” Cooper replied callously. “So we kill her again.”

After a moment of hesitation, Harkness hurried up to his office and returned with a strangely shaped knife. It was long, razor-sharp and had two smaller blades protruding out from either side of the primary blade. Harkness held up the knife and looked at their young archivist expectantly.

“Well, Ianto?” Dr. Harper prompted. “You’re the one with the cool names.”

Ianto took a deep breath and intoned with a serious face, “Life knife.”

“Works for me,” the doctor said, and Harkness nodded appreciatively.

Swanson had the strong urge to get sick. Were these people all insane? They brought people back from the death – including their own murderous ex-colleague – and made stupid jokes about nasty-looking alien weapons said colleague had used to kill people with? She looked up to Toshiko, who seemed a little pale, too. Almost green, actually. She must have been the only one with a rest of sensitivity in the entire lot.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
And the continuation wasn’t a tad better. At first, Harkness made a small, bloodless cut in the corpse’s arm, looking at Cooper. “Anything?”

Cooper did that weird gasping and eye rolling thing again, then she shook her head. “No, there was just a sort of spark and then it was gone. I'm sorry, Jack. You're gonna have do it properly.”

Swanson tried very hard _not_ to think about what “doing it properly” would mean. Maiming the corpse of a dead colleague, even if she’d been a serial killer, was _not_ the way things were done at the police. She praised herself of not being freaked out easily, but right now, she was rapidly approaching her limits.

Harkness looked at the doctor, who made a disgusted face but nodded. However, neither of them seemed all too eager to actually _do_ it properly.

“What the hell,” Harkness finally declared, apparently used to do the dirty work most of the time. He stepped forth with one leg, raised the knife with both hands in a theatrically stupid superhero manner and slammed it into the corpse’s chest. It would have been ridiculous, had it not been such a disturbing sight.

Both the dead woman and Cooper gasped at the same time. Ianto pushed the button of the stopwatch; the ticking echoed unnaturally loudly in the autopsy room. Harkness leaned over the corpse with an intensity Swanson saw on him for the first time, ever.

”Suzie?” he said urgently. “Listen. It's me.”

Suzie didn’t listen to him. She was trashing weakly on the autopsy table, trying to get free. “I've gotta go!”

Harkness grabbed her shoulders with a bruising force – well, bruising, would she still be alive – and immobilized her, trying to catch her attention. “Just look, look at my eyes, look at where you are.”

Suzie still wasn’t listening. “I've gotta go!”

“Think back, try to remember... Suzie!” Harkness shook her rather forcefully. “Suzie! Look at me!”

Now Suzie seemed to become aware of her surroundings and glanced up into his face, recognizing him. “Jack...” Then she looked down at herself and started fretting again. “Oh, my God. There's a knife in my chest, did you kill me?”

“You killed yourself, remember?” Harkness replied with considerable lack of compassion.

Suzie frowned. “But...” then the memories seemed to resurface. “Oh my God, I shot myself.”

Harkness glanced at the stopwatch in Ianto’s hand. Time was running away from them. “We've got to ask you about Pilgrim.”

“No,” Suzie protested. “Wait a minute. Didn't I kill you?”

“Never mind that,” Harkness replied, which earned him a strange look from their doctor, a look Swanson couldn’t quite interpret. “...we need names and details.”

“Who's using the glove?” Suzie suddenly asked, realizing how they must have brought her back.

“I'm sorry,” Cooper said stupidly. What the hell was she sorry for anyway? Didn’t the silly cow have one decent thought in that airhead of hers?

Suzie rolled her eyes, which was quite the feat from a woman who was actually dead. “Oh, wouldn't you know it, Gwen bloody Cooper.”

Swanson could completely understand both the eyeroll and the sentiment. It _would_ be a harsh awakening to find out that one had been replaced by _Cooper_ , of all people. It could make one want to die a second time.

“Thirty seconds,” Ianto announced, his eyes fixed on the stopwatch.

Harkness nodded and forced Suzie to listen to him. “When you were in Pilgrim you gave the amnesia pill to a man, Max, do you remember?”

Suzie gave him an incredulous look. “What? You brought me all the way back, just for Max?!”

“We need to find him,” Harkness explained. “Who is he? What's his surname?”

Suzie shrugged, which, lying on her back, wasn’t an easy thing to do. Even for someone who would be alive. “He was just... some loser...”

“We're losing her!” the doctor warned, seeing that she’d begun to slip away from them again.

Cooper began to scream like a banshee. “Stay here. Damn you!”

“Don't force it, Gwen,” Harkness said tiredly. “It’s no use.”

But as always, there was no reasoning with Cooper. “She's not getting away this time,” she screamed. “Stay here! Stay here, you bitch!"

Her screaming was interrupted by a loud buzz coming from the glove, and she collapsed unceremoniously. Harkness tried to catch her, his face dark and furious. “I told you to stop! Why can’t you listen? Why can you _never_ listen, dammit!”

Swanson could have answered _that_ but chose not to. She was all too glad that Cooper wasn’t the police’s problem anymore. _Let Torchwood deal with her_ , she thought with a little evil glee.

“It's all right, I've got her, I've got her...” Dr. Harper ran to Cooper like a schoolboy with a crush and cuddled her while checking her vitals. _And people say men can’t multitask_ , Swanson thought wryly.

“Hold on,” the doctor begged – what _was_ it with Cooper and men anyway? How did she wrap all of them around her little finger? She wasn’t even pretty, looked like an ungroomed suburb girl, not to mention her brainpowers… or rather the lack of them. Unless constant availability counted, of course. For some men that was usually enough. Although how she could lull in a decent bloke like her fiancé so completely still remained a mystery.

Swanson snorted derisively. At least Andy Davidson was smart enough to forget her and find a more worthy love interest. It would be interesting to see whether he was going to score with the brainy Japanese girl or not.

“How is she doing?” Harkness asked. He, too, seemed worried, but on a professional level; the way every team leader would be concerned about an injured team member. Perhaps behind all that outrageous flirting he _was_ a decent bloke, after all.

“She's all right,” the doctor was checking Cooper’s pulse and sighed in relief. “But we need to get her out of here. Can you come and give me a hand?+

Harkness wasn’t really listening to him. It's the glove, I told you they get hooked.”

“All right,” the doctor was really annoyed now. “Don't make a fuss, it's over now.”

“Ummm,” Ianto was clearing his throat. “Excuse me... I'm still counting.”

The doctor shot him a decidedly unfriendly look. Thank you, Captain Obvious, but there's not much point. Suzie's dead.”

“No,” Ianto declared calmly. “According to the equipment, she's unconscious.”

Harkness frowned and laid his head back in his neck in a somewhat weird gesture that clearly signalled his annoyance. “What the hell's going on?”

“Oh, my God!” Swanson had never seen anybody panicking quite to the degree as Torchwood’s doctor was panicking at that very moment. It was something inherently comical to see that snarky, often rude man losing it so completely.

“He's right,” he babbled. “She's alive! Suzie's still alive. Look at her, she's bloody breathing!”

Or it _would_ have been comical, had they not all been staring down at a living dead person. A literal zombie that shouldn’t exist… yet it obviously did.”

“She can't be...” Harkness pulled the knife out with a horrible crunchy, squishy noise. “Any change?”

”Nope,” Dr. Harper was icy white, more so than the living corpse on the autopsy table. “Still breathing. No stopping her. She won't die.”

That was the very moment when Swanson finally lost control over her stomach and threw up all over her favourite trouser suit, while the three men were staring at the not-corpse in shocked disbelief.

”One minute thirty and counting,” Ianto, also somewhat green around the gills, announced above the beeping of the monitoring equipment.

No-one paid any attention to Cooper who was still huddled on the floor. It would take Swanson another two days to realize what a grievous mistake _that_ oversight had been – perhaps the worst one in this whole sorry, insane case.


	6. Part Six

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 08 – SUZIE IS FREAKING HARD TO KILL, Part 6**

It took Detective Swanson half an hour – and two mugs of Ianto Jones’ industrial strength coffee – to pull herself together again. Barely.

“Are you doing this stuff on a regular basis?” she asked Toshiko, who’d shown her the ladies’ washroom (which was apparently the same as the men’s room at Torchwood) and gave her some indefinite substance to clean her trousers.

“Don’t ask,” she said. “The important thing is: it works."

“Although regular use would ruin your clothes,” Ianto added nonchalantly, filling up the coffee machine again. “That’s why I always take my suits to the dry cleaner’s.”

Swanson shook her head. “Your people are really sick. All of you. How can you make jokes about… about all these things?”

“Cos if we didn’t, we wouldn’t be able to do our jobs,” Toshiko replied quietly. “It’s not like we could go to therapists.”

“Actually,” Ianto closed the coffee machine, pushed the start button and went on rearranging the coffee mugs, “they tried counselling with the survivors of Canary Wharf,”

“And?” Swanson asked as he didn’t continue.

Ianto shrugged and gave her one of his bland receptionist smiles that could express a dozen different things. “The therapists all suffered a nervous breakdown after a few counselling sessions. After that, UNIT simply gave up on us.”

Swanson shuddered. “How did you survive?”

“A few of us couldn’t,”Ianto replied. “I know of at least four suicide cases out of the twenty-seven. The majority took Retcon willingly – hell, they begged on their knees for a chance to forget. Two that I know of had gone insane and will live out their existence in psychiatric institutes, too heavily drugged to even care about anything. A few have tried to continue their work and are affiliated with UNIT now. I’m the only one still working for Torchwood.”

“You chose to come back to _this_?” Swanson gestured around the dank underground scene. “Are you sure you _haven’t_ gone insane?”

“Personal reasons,” Ianto replied, his tone signalling he’d _not_ talk about said reasons. “Besides, I’m too used to the weirdness to accommodate to any normal job. And the death rate only started ricocheting skywards after Little Miss Sensitive had joined the club.”

This was the longest speech Swanson had ever heard from Ianto Jones… or would likely ever hear. She just knew that. Still, there was something in the bunch of information he’d just dumped onto her lap that didn’t add up.

“I thought it was Suzie who started the killings,” she said.

“The killings, yeah,” Ianto agreed. “I’m speaking of collateral damage, though… about the deaths of innocent bystanders Gwen _caused_ by not following orders… or by simply being stupid.”

“I could have warned you about _that_ ,” Swanson said. “She got several partners injured before she got Andy, who seems to have an extraordinarily capable guardian angel. People were afraid to even walk the beat the same time she did. She was nicknamed the Black Widow. Everyone was happy when she quit to join your lot.”

“Well, yeah, we’re stuck with her now,” Ianto said gloomily. “Since Jack messed up the dosage at the first time, we don’t dare to Retcon her again. She’s bad enough as she is – imagine her with homicidal tendencies, caused by Retcon overdose.”

“Don’t put _that_ nightmare in my head,” Swanson shivered demonstratively. “Where is she anyway? Has she recovered from the zombie-making already?”

“Oh, she’s tough like a cockroach,” Toshiko replied, with more venom in her gentle voice than Swanson would have expected from her. “She’s _helping_ Jack investigate Suzie.”

“Investigating?” Swanson repeated incredulously. “Now _that_ must be a spectacular failure. She was never able to arrest an eighty-year-old, stone-drunk grandpa without help.”

“We can watch them on the CTV,” Toshiko offered.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Swanson found that a good idea – she _really_ wanted to see Cooper make a fool of herself – and so they all gathered at Toshiko’s workstation, who put the CCTV feed on her computer screen.

It showed a nondescript room, with the zombie woman sitting in a red wheelchair, dressed in dark blue. Harkness was just walking into the room, dropping a file on the table and sitting down. Cooper was standing behind him, trying to look professional – and failing miserably.

“Change the camera angle,” Dr. Harper said, walking up to them. “I wanna take a look at the back of her head.”

“What for?” Toshiko asked tersely. “We all know what’s there: a big, bleeding hole. She blew her own brains out, remember?”

“It’s the bleeding part I’m interested in,” the doctor replied. “See, she’s _dead_. She shouldn’t _be_ bleeding at all.”

“She shouldn’t be _breathing_ , either, yet she obviously is,” Swanson pointed out. Perhaps next time you should _think_ first, doctor, before trying your hand at zombie-making.”

The doctor opened his mouth to say something, but Toshiko cut him short with unusual directness. “Leave it, Owen. She’s right. What we’ve done was _wrong_ , no matter _why_ we’ve done it. Now we have to live with the consequences – and they ain’t gonna be pleasant.”

Dr. Harper shut up wisely, and for a while, they listened in silence to Harkness questioning Suzie, with Cooper making stupid remarks (she probably thought she was being tough) and ensuring by her stupidity that Suzie would _not_ cooperate. Despite her so-called efforts, Harkness actually managed to figure out that Suzie had visited the Pilgrim meetings every week for two years, talked to this Max person afterwards and given him one amnesia pill each time to make him forget all she’d told him about Torchwood, aliens, alien tech and the likes. 

“Christ!” Dr. Harper murmured. “No wonder…”

“What the hell did you do that for?” Harkness asked, his annoyance evident.

Suzie sighed. “I just... I wanted _someone_ to talk to. About this place. It was driving me mad. And he was just... He listened, that's all, he just listened…”

Hearing that, Cooper gave Harkness a smug ‘told you so’ smile. Swanson fought the urge to go over and punch her in the nose. She won, but it wasn’t an easy thing. Harkness, however, didn’t let himself be distracted from the investigation.

“You overdosed him!” he told the undead woman accusingly.

“I didn't know that!” Suzie replied in a whiny tone that would have put Cooper to shame and made Swanson suspicious at once; she didn’t seem like a woman who’d whine about things gone wrong. “Keep getting it wrong, don't I? Is that why you brought me back? Did you think I wasn't guilty enough?”

“What was his surname?” Harkness pressed.

”I don't know,” Suzie replied, still in that falsely whiny tone. “All I ever did was talk about me. It's all my fault, isn't it? Never bloody stops being my fault. Can't you just let me die?”

Harkness was grinning, but not his normal, shit-eating, I’ll-charm-everyone-out-of-their-pants grin. In fact, he was beyond scary at this moment. “You don't get off that easy,” he said.

”Yeah, you did warn me, right at the beginning,” Suzie replied wryly, which might have been her usual manner. She looked at Cooper shrewdly. “He said, ‘This is the one job you can never quit.’ Did he tell you the same?”

”Then let's get to work,” Harkness interrupted. “Come on, Suzie! Just like the old days. There's gotta be something.”

Suzie pretended to be thinking hard; not that Swanson would buy it for a moment. “Hold on... There's someone missing. This girl came every week, student, blonde... She's not in these photos.”

”Who was she?” Harkness prompted.

Suzie still seemed to think hard. “Lucy. Lucy Mackenzie. Said she worked at a club.”

”Which one?” Harkness was getting impatient.

”Uhhh...” Suzie didn’t answer at once, which, in turn, did not make her boss happy.

”Come on, Suzie!” he urged. “Which club? For God's sake, this Max is killing every single member of Pilgrim. Now tell me, Lucy Mackenzie, where did she work, which club?!”

”Wolf,” Suzie suddenly said, as if she’d remember all of once. “The Wolf Bar.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
”Well, at least that’s something,” Toshiko commented. “We’ve got a starting point, if nothing else.”

But Swanson shook her head. “Something is fishy here.”

“What do you mean?” Ianto asked.

Swanson sighed. She hated being so vague, but she couldn’t really put her finger on what was bothering her.

“I’m not sure. I just have this feeling that she’s playing him... I dunno. If she were a normal suspect, I’d say she’s too cooperative for someone who tried to kill the very people who’re investigating her.”

“Do you think she’s lying?” Ianto asked.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” the doctor growled. “She’s fooled us quite successfully before.”

“No, not lying, although that shifty-eyed look could mean a lot of things,” Swanson said. “it’s more like… like she’s following a plan, and manipulating Captain Harkness to do exactly what she wants him to do,.”

“Jack isn’t so easily fooled,” Ianto said.

“Are you sure?” the doctor asked snidely. “ _You’ve_ managed to do so just as well as Suzie has, if I’m not mistaken.”

Ianto shrugged. “Being considered part of the furniture does have its advantage. Had you – _any_ of you – ever treated me as a _person_ , it would have been a lot harder to fool you.” 

With that, he nodded at Swanson and left the room.

“He’s right, you know,” Swanson said conversationally to the doctor who was glaring slack-jawed at their archivist’s rapidly retreating back. “It’s a common mistake to leave the administrative staff out of consideration. Many important, big name folk have slipped on that particular banana skin and broke their necks career-wise.”

Dr. Harper scowled, but before he could have come up with a proper answer, Harkness came back from the interrogation room with his usual flourish.

“Get your gear, Owen,” he said. “We’re gonna hit the bars. We’ve got a lead.”

“Shall I go with you?” Toshiko asked, but Harkness shook his head.

“No, I need you here to monitor our progress. We’ll establish an earcam feed, so that Suzie can point out the right people for us.”

“Great, so I’m stuck with her at the base,” Toshiko scowled. “Why is it you always give me the shittiest jobs, Jack?”

Harkness looked at her with unusual seriousness.

“Because you’re the one I can trust unconditionally to get the job done,” he replied, and Toshiko blushed prettily.

“There’s always Ianto,” she offered. Harkness nodded.

“True; but I don’t think I should leave him alone with an undead woman… not so soon. He’s strong, Tosh, but he’s not indestructible.”

Toshiko was silent for a moment; then she nodded resolutely. “All right. I’ll do it. I hate the idea, but better me than him.”

“And I’ll see if I can get anything from our two suspects,” Swanson said. “I need to go back to my office for some stuff that hasn’t been digitalized yet, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Can you send me the results through the live feed?” Toshiko asked.

Swanson promised her to try and left the Torchwood base.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
In the end, it proved easier to bring back the hard copies personally, as scanning them in turned out a failure; they were too faded for that. When she got back, The Torchwood crowd had already collected their main subject: a stocky man about forty, six two or six three tall, with short, dark hair and a tattoo down his left arm. 

They’d put the guy into a cell in the basement, with a front wall that looked like glass but was probably some kind of high-security polymer, with holes in it. Harkness and the doctor were down there, the latter holding a clipboard and asking basic questions, which remained unanswered. The prisoner just stared at them with a completely empty face.

“Is that our murdered?” Swanson asked.

Harkness nodded. “Yeah; or our prize suspect, at the very least. He isn’t very talkative, though. What have you found out about him?”

“Not all too much,” Swanson admitted. “Apparently, his full name is Max Tresillian. He lives at 106 Endeavour Terrace and used to work for a transport company but has been unemployed for about a year by now. His parents are Sandra and Dave Tresillian, but they live somewhere else. He’s divorced, his ex-wife died about eight months ago. Nothing unusual, actually.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” Dr. Harper replied grimly. “Watch this!” he turned to the prisoner and said in a flat, unemotional voice. “Max? You're inside the Torchwood facility.”

The suspect threw himself at the glass and started hammering it with fist, growling loudly. Swanson took an involuntary step backwards. She wasn’t easily frightened, but obvious madness always unsettled her. The doctor, however, displayed some sort of morbid professional curiosity.

“And five, six...” he counted. “Keep watching. Soon as we reach ten...”

As soon as he reached ten, the prisoner sat down in exact the same empty way as ten seconds before. Swanson was shocked.

“What the hell…?”

“We don’t know,” Dr. Harper admitted. “He just stops dead. If this is a drug-induced psychosis, it's a very specific one.”

“It seems like he reacts to the word Torchwood,” Harkness added; at which the prisoner repeated the previous reaction in exactly the same manner, like some kind of automaton.

Dr. Harper gave his boss a sour look. “Thanks, Jack.”

Harkness grinned at the prisoner unrepentantly. “Sorry,” then he turned to the doctor. “But if that's caused by Retcon, then we've got a million more problems on the way,” he turned to leave. “Let me know what the scan says.”

”But, what about Suzie?” the doctor asked. “What are you gonna do with her?”

”No idea,” Harkness replied with a shrug. “What do you think?”

Dr. Harper gave him a falsely pleasant smile. “You're the boss.”

Harkness nodded, turned again to go – in a not entirely uncamp way – and as he left, he whispered in the prisoner’s direction, “Torchwood!”

Dr. Harper shook his head and followed him out, Swanson hot at their heels. In the now empty corridor, the prisoner growled and banged the glass for another ten seconds.

The doctor went to the conference room to check on something. Swanson, however, followed Harkness to his office. Having captured this Max character was only the beginning of things. They needed to co-ordinate their efforts to avoid similar things happening.

Ianto slid in quietly, placing coffee mugs in front of them. Harkness smiled at the young Welshman in a strangely… intimate manner. Swanson hadn’t seen him smiling at anyone that way yet, not even at Toshiko, whom he obviously and genuinely loved… in a Harkness-untypical, non-sexual way.

“Thanks, Ianto, you’re a godsend.”

“All part of my job, sir,” Ianto replied with one of his polite smiles, but Swanson thought she could see genuine warmth behind that polite mask.

Unless she was imagining things, of course. One could never be sure with Torchwood.

Before she could form an opinion, though, Cooper stormed into the office, apparently having one of those self-righteous fits that had made her so extremely unpopular while still with the police. Harkness ignored her completely, making her wait and fume.

“You know,” he said to Swanson conversationally, “I had a boyfriend who used to walk into rooms like that.”

“What do you mean?” Swanson grinned at Cooper’s expanse, putting the ‘boyfriend’ reference away for further consideration.

“The grand entrance,” Harkness explained. “So that he’d be the focus of attention every time.”

“Must have gotten kind of boring after a while,” Swanson commented sarcastically, and Ianto suddenly found something _very_ interesting in the farthest corner of the office. His shoulders were shaking just a wee bit.

Harkness nodded. “Yeah, it did. But he was one of twins, so I put up with it. Twin acrobats.”

Ianto turned to them again and rolled his eyes. “Oh, not _that_ story again!”

“Man, I gotta write that book,” Harkness said dreamily, ignoring the comment. “Maybe even illustrate it. I can talk for a long time, a very long time.”

“No shit,” Ianto murmured with a completely serious face, and Swanson didn’t quite succeed in suppressing a highly embarrassing giggle.

Cooper glared at them. “Takes me a while to piece things together…”

“No shit,” Ianto murmured again, this time in a completely different tone. For a moment it seemed as if Cooper would hit him, but Harkness stopped her with a raised hand.

”Meaning?” he asked frostily.

”Suzie had the glove,” Cooper said, as if it would explain anything. “You put her in charge of it.”

“Yes,” Harkness replied with a shrug. “And? Your point being…?”

“My point is, Jack, did you ever ask about her father?” Cooper demanded.

Which Harkness apparently hadn’t done, nor did he seem to see the necessity of doing so. “How do you mean?”

”He's got cancer,” Cooper said accusingly. “He's been dying slowly now for years. And what do you do? You give his daughter the one device that brings people back to life! Is it any wonder she got obsessed?”

Harkness raised an arrogant eyebrow. “Oh, so this is all my fault?!”

”Well, isn't it?” Cooper retorted. “Did you ever stop and think? Did you... Did you ever look at Suzie? Did you ever... think what that glove would do to her, did you?”

Harkness shook his head tiredly. “Right from the start, you thought that Suzie's death was because of you, cos it happened when you arrived. Then you brought her back to life, all the way, because _you_ wanted it so much.”

There was some awkward silence, and then Harkness gave Cooper a harsh look. “Okay, let’s suppose we're both responsible! Now, what the hell are we going to do with her?”

Cooper opened and closed her mouth a few times like a blowfish. “I don't know,” she finally admitted, staring at Harkness stupidly.

“How surprising,” Swanson couldn’t withhold a snidely comment. “All you ever know is accusing others when things don’t go the way you’d like them to go. But you were never able to make _any_ useful suggestions.”

Cooper shot her a dirty look… then turned back to Harkness, doing the eye-bulging, lip-trembling routine.

“Jack… what if she never dies? Have you thought of that? Like... Undying, forever. Just you and her.”

”No way,” Harkness replied promptly.

”Could be,” Cooper insisted; it was so like her. She’d always been like that: like a dog with a bone, never knowing when to let go.

It took Swanson a moment to realize what she had just said. Was Harkness some kind of undead monster, too? What insane – and totally immoral – experiments were practiced at Torchwood? Aside from the bringing back the dead part, that is.

Harkness shook his head again. “I wouldn't wish that on her. I'd sooner kill her right now.”

”Could you, though?” Cooper looked up at him, teary-eyed. “Kill her?”

Harkness’ blue eyes turned cold like ice, making Swanson shiver involuntarily. “Yeah.”

”Really?” Cooper stared at him through her fake tears stupidly, as if she’d expected a different answer. But Harkness remained stone-faced. 

”Oh, yeah,” he answered coldly, and at that moment Swanson understood that he’d go _any_ length to protect his team, no matter the costs. She suddenly wished _she_ had a boss like him.

Cooper didn’t understand the significance, of course. She never did; really important things just never found a way to her self-absorbed little brain. But before she could launch another one of her annoying tirades, the intercom beeped.

”Jack,” Dr. Harper’s voice said. “Can you come to the conference room for a sec? Something I need you to see. Kind of urgent.”

Harkness got up and looked at Swanson. “Coming, Kathy?”

Swanson decided to let that too-familiar address slip for the moment. She still could punch him in the nose later. Neither of them paid the spluttering Cooper any attention. Not even Ianto, who quietly and efficiently collected the empty mugs and returned them to the kitchenette before following his boss to the conference room.


	7. Part Seven

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 08 – SUZIE IS FREAKING HARD TO KILL, Part 7**

It showed how much the Torchwood crew had gotten used to Swanson’s presence in the Hub that Dr. Harper didn’t even protest against her joining them in the conference room. He waited until Ianto arrived, though, before he began with his explanations.

“I was going over Suzie and Gwen's medical records,” he said, “hoping that I might find something that would explain what happened. I didn’t… not until I ran them through the philharmonic filter, that is. Watch the footage.”

Swanson squeezed herself between Toshiko and Harkness to get a better look at the computer screen. The picture was mostly grey, with a semi-electric blue light going from Cooper through the glove to the corpse on the autopsy table.

“This is the moment when Gwen brought back Mark Briscoe, the husband,” the doctor explained. “See? Now look at his death. See? The energy flow stops just as he's about to die. But... have a look at Gwen with Suzie.”

The picture was just as green as before. It showed Harkness’ hand ramming the knife into the corpse, and then was a big, arching blue light going from Cooper’s chest to Suzie’s… but this time not through the glove.

“Whoa!” Swanson commented softly.

“What is that?” Toshiko asked.

Dr. Harper shrugged. “Energy. Life.”

Toshiko and Harkness were standing there with their mouths open. Ianto didn’t show any visible reaction, but he, too, was petrified.

“With Suzie, it's a permanent connection and she is getting stronger,” the doctor added. “It's still going, right now. She is draining the life out of Gwen.”

“There's always a price,” Harkness replied, his face grim and unreadable.

“What do you mean?” Swanson asked with a frown. Unlike the Torchwood crowd, she was new to all this sci-fi mumbo-jumbo.

“The wearer of the glove can bring somebody back, but loses their own life in return,” Harkness explained.

“Man, that sucks,” Swanson commented, and the others nodded in agreement.

“So, how do we stop it? Stop _her_?” Toshiko asked. “We can’t just let her go on like that.”

“No,” Harkness agreed. “We've got to kill her. Suzie's got to die.”

“Again?” Toshiko raised an elegant eyebrow.

Harkness just shrugged. “That’s the way of things. What’s dead stays dead.”

“Unless you’re Jack Harkness,” Ianto added blandly. “Or affiliated with Torchwood.”

Harkness shook his head. “Not this time, Ianto. This has to end, _now_.”

“And who’s gonna do it?” Dr. Harper asked, clearly not comfortable with the thought.

Harkness pulled out his Webley, pointing it at the ceiling, his face cold and determined. “Like you said: I'm the boss.”

“Wait a minute!” Swanson interrupted. “You’re planning to kill someone in cold blood and expect me to do… _nothing_ about it? I’m a cop, remember? I get paid to keep people from killing each other.”

“Kathy,” Harkness said patiently, “she’s _dead_. We can’t kill someone who’s already dead; not really.”

“She _was_ dead,” Swanson corrected. “She seems very much alive to me right now.”

“She’s _undead_ ,” Harkness said. “She has no business walking around. She’s a crazy, undead murderer, whom _we_ have brought back. It’s our responsibility to send her back to the freezer unit where she belongs.”

“You should have considered your responsibility _before_ you turned her into a zombie,” Swanson retorted sharply.

For a moment, Harkness was quiet. Then he nodded. “You’re right. Of all people, _I should have_ known better. But what’s done is done, and we must find a way to undo it… by any means necessary.”

“I can’t condone murder,” Swanson said. “It doesn’t mater whether she’s alive or undead – you _are_ planning to murder her.”

“No; I’m planning to execute her,” Harkness replied coldly. “As the leader of Torchwood’s Cardiff branch, I’m entitled to do so. It’s all in the Torchwood Charta; Ianto can show you if you want.”

“It still makes you a killer,” Swanson returned, uncompromising.

Harkness nodded. “So it does. It won’t be the first time. I don’t like it any more than you do, but sometimes I just _have_ to do the dirty things nobody else would be willing to soil their hands with,” he paused, looking at Swanson with genuine regret and sympathy.

“You don’t need to stay here and watch, you know. I promise I’ll keep you updated in case we learn anything new.”

Swanson thought about it for a moment; then she nodded. “All right. I’ll go. But if you _don’t_ inform me about any new developments, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Harkness mock-saluted. “Ma’am, yes, Ma’am!”

Swanson shook her head with an involuntary grin and allowed Ianto to escort her out through the tourist office. As she got into her car, she saw Cooper get into another one and leave the Torchwood building at a great speed. For a moment, she wondered where Cooper could go at this time – didn’t she have to work like the others? – but then she decided it wasn’t her business and drove back to the police station.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
She found her entire department working overtime as one man, as usual when they had such brutal murder cases.

“Any new leads?” Detective M’Benga, a tall, slender black man of South African origins, with a shaved head and a sardonic smile, asked. He was an excellent cop, hard-working and with good instincts. Swanson liked to work with him.

“Torchwood has found a suspect,” she replied. M’Benga pulled a face.

“Does it mean we’ve lost the case?” he asked. After all the hard work, it clearly annoyed him. Swanson shook her head.

“Not this time. Captain Harkness is in one of his rare cooperative moods. We’ll be informed if anything new is found out.”

“Wonders never cease to exist,” M’Benga commented wryly.

Swanson nodded in agreement and went over to the desk of her PA and close friend, Eiry Conway, a somewhat plain-faced brunette in her early thirties, who was wearing the absolutely correct dark jacket and white blouse, despite the sticky warmth of the office. The only allowance she made was leaving the top button of her blouse open. Perhaps it _was_ a common PA treat, but for a moment, Swanson was eerily reminded of Ianto Jones, also impeccably clad and completely unfazed by the mood swings of his boss.

“Anything on this supposed Pilgrim member, this Lucy Mackenzie?” she asked.

Conway shook her head, causing her ponytail to swap from one side to the other. “Not much. She apparently stopped working for the _Wolf Bar_ two months ago and hasn’t been seen in any of her usual chilling places ever since.”

“What about university?” Detective Flores asked, his exotic features twisted into an unhappy frown. His grandparents had come from the Philippines, but he was born in Cardiff and considered himself Welsh to the bone, taking personal offence when the proper order of life was upset by some hideous crime. It was an attitude that made him extremely efficient in his job but somewhat… tiring to work with.

“She’s been exmatriculated during last semester, due to failed exams, which might be the reason she sought comfort by the Pilgrim group,” Detective Moira Fenner replied. She was one of the newbies, but very thorough; as the daughter of a Welsh father and a half-Ghanaian mother, she had a beautiful café latte colouring, shoulder-length jet-black hair and the elegance of a fashion model… which she’d actually used to be before joining the police.

“Perhaps she left the city,” Trefor Pugh, the senior detective (well, _after_ Swanson of course) suggested. He was a true Welshman of stocky, square build and of middle years, with short brown hair and a broad face. “Where was she from anyway?”

“Glasgow, apparently,” Conway replied, after having consulted her screen. “That’s where her permanent address is, at least.”

“We should contact the colleagues in Glasgow,” Swanson said. “They should look for her and warn her. She might be in danger yet.”

“Why?” M’Benga asked. “Didn’t you say Torchwood has already found the culprit?”

“They’ve found the man who’s most likely responsible for the killings,” Swanson corrected. “However, there are still question about the motivation and about possible other victims. Or _potential_ victims. They’re currently investigating someone who might be the mastermind behind the whole case.”

“Why do _they_ get to investigate him?” Trefor Pugh demanded angrily, automatically assuming that the subject was male. Swanson chose _not_ to correct his misconception. The last thing she wanted was to tell her colleagues hair-raising tales about undead women.

About undead Torchwood members, at that.

“Cos they can use methods we’re forbidden to even consider,” she replied grimly. “And in this particular case it might be necessary.”

That shut the others up, and they all returned to their work. Swanson gathered the SOCO reports from Conway’s desk and walked over to her own.

“Eiry, if Torchwood calls put them through at once,’ she said. “It might be crucial that they reach me without delay.”

“Noted,” Conway nodded. “Coffee?”

Swanson laughed. “Not right now. I was treated to a Jack Harkness special by his personal coffee wizard, so I’m fine for the moment.”

Conway looked up with interest. “You got the chance to try the coffee of Ianto Jones? You’re a lucky dog, Detective.”

“You know Ianto Jones?” It was Swanson’s turn to be surprised, as usually she was the one to deal with Torchwood.

“He came here to smooth over things for Captain Harkness, right after Cooper had joined them,” Conway explained. “You had to take the day off cos Neesha was sick. In any case, he came, gave Inspector Henderson some info about the deaths on the _Conway Fertility Clinic_ , and he declared us all bloody amateurs who haven’t got a clue how to treat a good coffee machine properly.”

“Did he?” Swanson was grinning like a loon. Knowing the usually very formal manners of Torchwood’s public face, it had to be quite the spectacle. So, there _was_ something that could bring the unshakable Ianto Jones out of his calm, after all.

Conway grinned back. “Oh, yeah. After that, he demonstrated the ‘proper’ use of the coffee maker, and the whole department all but fainted from pleasure. As far as I know, the inspector has been trying to woo him over to work for us ever since; it led to several very… _vocal_ phone calls between him and Captain Harkness.”

“I’m not surprised about that,” Swanson was still grinning. “I got the impression that he and his coffee boy have got something more in common than just caffeine addiction. Not that I’d have any right to criticize anyone for having an office romance,” she added ruefully. After all, Neesha _was_ the result of such a romance, and as much as she loved her little girl, sometimes she wished she could provide her with a proper family.

Conway shrugged. “That’s Jack Harkness for you. He’d shag anything if it’s gorgeous enough – and that young man certainly matches the category.”

“I know, I’ve heard all the rumours and than some.” Swanson laughed, her momentary melancholy gone. “He’s a terrible flirt indeed – but at least he’s got style.”

“So they say,” Conway agreed. “Which makes one all the more curious why on Earth has he hired _Cooper_ of all people. I mean, being stupid is bad enough, but she’s like Velcro when she fancies a man.”

“She caught him in a vulnerable moment, I’m told,” Swanson replied. “Right after having lost one of his team.”

“Oh,” Conway nodded. “And Cooper just happened to be in the right place at the right time, making cow eyes at him, tossing her hair and drooling like a retarded schoolgirl. Yeah, that works with the male ego more often than not.”

There was a great deal of bitterness in her voice, which was understandable, considering that she’d lost her long-time boyfriend to someone like Cooper right before the wedding. That had been quite a few years ago, but she was still not entirely over it. It has also been the reason to accept Swanson’s offer to share a house with her. It was of mutual advantage: as a single mum, Swanson could use a little help with raising Neesha, and Conway greatly appreciated not being alone.

At first, there had been stupid jokes about their all-girl-household, of course. Especially male colleagues had asked them whether they’d sworn off men completely and turned to each other for comfort. Two bruised jaws and a broken nose later (the latter of which had cost Swanson a promotion) everyone had just got used to it and left them alone.

The truth was: no, they hadn’t sworn off men completely. They were just choosy, no longer accepting the first bloke who happened to show some interest for them. Swanson still had a good, friendly relationship with Neesha’s father, and Conway was currently seeing someone outside the police force. Neither fact had any influence whatsoever on their living arrangements – _or_ on their highly professional working relationship.

So Swanson wasn’t the least surprised when the phone rang, Conway answered it and then offered her the receiver, saying in a crisp, professional tone: “Detective Swanson, you’ve got a call!”

Swanson looked up from the crime scene photos she was studying. “Who is it?”

“Torchwood,” Conway replied. “Captain Harkness in person.”

Swanson put away the photos and took the phone. “All right,” she said tiredly. “What do you have for me? You'd better not be wasting my time.”

“Nothing so far,” Harkness admitted. “As a matter of fact I was wondering if you could do us a favour.”

Swanson rolled her eyes. “The humble police, helping the mighty Torchwood? Why don't you just help yourselves? Like you normally do.”

”Because we can't,” Harkness told her reluctantly.

Swanson raised an eyebrow; unfortunately, the gesture was wasted on the man who couldn’t see it. “Why's that?”

”We're sort of busy,” Harkness replied evasively, and Swanson felt the hairs on her neck rise in irritation.

”Well, I'm busy too,” she snapped. “In case you haven’t realized, I still have a serial murder case to solve. Try someone else.” She was about to slam down the receiver.

”No, no, no...” Harkness must have guessed her intention because he was awfully eager to prevent her hanging up. "It's just because we can't at the moment because we're sort of stuck.”

Now _that_ sounded interesting. “In what way?” Swanson asked. “Has Cooper shut you in when she left?”

“You saw her leaving?” Harkness sounded surprised. “When?”

“Same time I left,” Swanson said. “So, did she shut you in?”

”No,” Harkness replied, “it was someone a lot more efficient. I’ll tell you the story when we’ve solved the case, but right now we're locked in and would like to get out.”

”You're locked in?” Swanson repeated, trying very hard not to giggle… and losing, big time. 

”Just a bit,” Harkness answered defensively.

”Locked in where?” Swanson asked, although there weren’t really so many possibilities. She’d left them all in the base, not so long ago.

”Ummm...” Harkness hesitated before admitting the ugly truth. “In our own base.”

”You're locked inside your own base?” Swanson was a hapless heap of hilarity in her chair. She couldn’t help it. All that advanced – supposedly _alien_ – technology and the mighty Torchwood couldn’t even escape their own base. It was simply too much.

”And it's not funny!” Harkness growled.

”I beg to differ,” Swanson was grinning so hard her face muscles hurt. “And how am I supposed to help you, exactly?”

”We need a book of poetry,” Harkness replied. “ _The Complete Poems_ by Emily Dickinson, in fact.”

Swanson lost it and laughed uproariously. “Now that’s something new!”

”It's _not_ funny!” Harkness growled again, but the sad truth was that yeah, it _was_ hilariously funny, Her Majesty’s top alien hunters needing a book of poetry to escape their own base.

“All right,” she finally said. “I’ll call you back when we have it. Bye,” she hung up and looked at Conway. “Eiry, can you get us a copy of _The Complete Poems_ by Emily Dickinson? Preferably yesterday?”

“What for?” Conway asked in surprise. She never knew her boss to be a poetry fancier.

Swanson shrugged. “Apparently, Torchwood needs to find some sort of verbal code to get out of their own base, where they’re locked in.”

“ _What_?” M’Benga, on his way to the filing cabinet, caught the gist of it and nearly fell over with laughter. “No way!”

“Afraid so,” Swanson said. “And we ought to help them, cos what I’ve seen at their base made me realize that while we might not like their arrogance, we _need_ them.”

M’Benga shrugged. “If you say so… And how _can_ we help them?”

“By finding a copy of Emily Dickinson’s complete pomes,” Swanson replied. “Do you have one?”

“Do I _look_ like I would?” M’Benga asked incredulously. He was known to like motorbikes and heavy metal music, not poems.

“I _might_ have one at home,” PC Shaun Bridges walked in, coming back from an operation, still wearing his Kevlar vest. “My ex-wife fancied her style and had several copies lying around in the flat all the time. Perhaps there’s still one on the bookshelf.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that you only live four streets away,” Swanson said. “Can you get it, please? Now?”

“Sure,” Bridges replied, “but that’d mean you owe me one, do you realize it?”

Swanson grinned at him. Their affair had lain back almost eight years by now – they’d separated for career reasons – but she still found him devastatingly handsome. Even though their feelings had cooled down to friendship during those years; a friendship that outlasted his short-lived marriage to another woman and all the problems that occurred while trying to be good parents for their daughter, even though they were no longer together as a couple. They even managed to remain professional at work, which wasn’t always easy.

“I can live with that,” she said. “Can we have that book, please?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
When Bridges returned with the book of poetry, Swanson gathered the whole department around her desk. They all ought to share the fun on Torchwood’s expense – it didn’t happen every day, and they deserved it, after years of frustration with the not-quite-so-secret organization.

“All right, Captain Jack,” she said into the phone, “just say that one more time. Nice and clear.”

She’d put Harkness on the loudspeaker, so that everyone could hear the frustration in his tone. “We're locked in our own base and we can't get out.”

The detectives and police officers around Swanson’s desk laughed their collective heads up… a fact that didn’t remain hidden from the Torchwood leader.

”OK, you've had your fun,” he said tersely. “Now listen, _Detective_ Swanson, one of our team is in danger, and I really don’t have the time to entertain your co-workers any longer.”

Swanson covered the phone with one hand and made shooing moves with the other one. “Right, you lot, back to work...” she said to the others before picking up the phone again. “Okay, we've got it. _The Complete Poems; it's gonna cost you 20 quid_.”

”You’ll get it,” Harkness replied impatiently. “What does the book say?”

”Er…” Swanson shrugged. “I don't know; what am I _supposed_ to do?”

”Find 'I Could Not Stop For Death',” Harkness said. “Read out the next verse.”

”What if it doesn't work?” Swanson asked doubtfully.

”Read out the whole book!” Harkness snapped, his nerves clearly frayed.

Swanson sighed. “It's gonna be a long night.”

She waggled her coffee mug to a colleague, who went to get her some. It would be light years away from Ianto Jones’ coffee magic, but there was no way she could read out a whole book of poetry without properly caffeinated.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
When the coffee arrived ten minutes later, they were still reading poetry to each other. Under different circumstances, it might have been… inspiring. Under the current circumstances, it was simply frustrating… and increasingly so.

”Parting is all we know of / heaven and all we need of hell,” Harkness repeated; then after a moment he sighed. “No, try another.”

”Success is counted sweetest / by those who ne'er succeed,” then she pulled a disgusted face. “Christ, she was a bundle of laughs.” _If Shaun’s ex fancied this whiny woman, it’s no wonder their marriage only lasted a couple of years_ , she thought.

”Success is counted sweetest by / those who ne'er succeed,” Harkness repeated. “Nope.”

“Oh God, you weren’t joking when you said we might have to read out the whole bloody book!” Swanson groaned.

”Wait a minute, just had a thought...” Toshiko’s voice said from the background. “If words cause the lockdown, maybe numbers reverse it... Try the ISBN, every book's got a different number.”

”You getting this?” Harkness asked.

”Yup, hang on, I'm looking...” and indeed, Swanson was looking frantically. She wanted this to be done with, and she wanted answers.

”Read it out,” Toshiko’s voice said, and then she could hear Harkness again.

”The keyboards aren't working, Tosh.”

”I know,” Toshiko’s voice answered, "but the membrane underneath might just recognise the code.”

”Okay,” Swanson interrupted them. “Got it! ISBN 019 8600 585.”

Harkness repeated the numbers, and they could hear Toshiko type away on her keyboard.

”That's it!” Harkness cried out in relief. “Everybody, move, move, move! Kathy, thank you.”

”Pleasure!” Swanson replied to the already muted phone sarcastically. But deep in her heart, she had to admit that she _had_ enjoyed having pulled Torchwood’s collective arses out of the fire for a change.

The phone rang again, almost immediately. This time, it was the SOCO – Sara Lloyd, to be precise.

“Detective, I'm getting the feed from Torchwood’s Mainframe again,” she said. “It seems someone’s kidnapped Cooper and they’re trying to get her back.”

“Why would they want to do _that_?” Trefor Pugh asked dryly. “They should be glad to be rid of her; God knows _we_ are.”

But Swanson had an educated guess just _who_ might have kidnapped Cooper and could very well understand Harkness’ frantic effort to stop them.

”Can they track her car?” she asked Lloyd, remembering to have seen Cooper’s car leave the Torchwood building.

“Yep,” the blonde crime scene investigator replied. “The car’s obviously at some sort of hospital.”

“Do you have the coordinates?” Swanson asked.

“Of course,” Lloyd sounded like a woman whose professional pride had just been insulted.

“Great. Transfer them,” Swanson thought for a moment, then she came to a decision. Bridges was by far the better driver of the two of them. “Transfer them to PC Bridges’ police car,” she looked at the man. “Shaun, I hate to ask you this, but…”

“… I can get you there faster and safer than anyone else,” Bridges nodded. “On my way.”

“You ought to hurry up,” Lloyd said. “They say Cooper has about forty minutes to live.”

She hung up, but the phone rang again. It was Harkness, once more.

“Kathy, I want the road ahead clear,” he said in a manner of disciplined urgency usually heard from military commanders in battle; perhaps the rank of a captain wasn’t just affection, after all. “I’m gonna break the speed limit, big time.”

“Understood,” Swanson looked at Bridges who put her on unicom to all police cars currently on patrol. “All units, give Torchwood priority, repeat, give Torchwood priority!”

She didn’t want for the cops to acknowledge her orders. She was already running down to the garage, hot on Bridges’ heels. Three minutes later they were racing to the coordinates transferred to the GPS of the car, with blue light flashing and sirens howling.


	8. Part Eight

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 08 – SUZIE IS FREAKING HARD TO KILL, Part 8**

PC Andy Davidson was nearing the end of his duty shift and was _really_ looking forward to a pint of beer – or two… or three… – in his favourite pub. Perhaps if he had enough booze in his system, he’d find the courage to call that cute Japanese chick from Torchwood and ask her out for a date. His new partner had the day off, and so he could hope to finish his shift without having to chat with half the police station, this time. His new partner turned out unexpectedly popular.

However, when the central instruction to give Torchwood priority on the roads came through his radio, all thoughts of an early evening were blown away as by a stormy wind. Even more so when he saw the black Torchwood SUV race past him with screeching tires. Shortly thereafter, a police car followed, with bluelight and howling sirens.

What the…?

With a sudden gut reaction, Andy slammed down the accelerator with full power and raced after them. The orders had said to give Torchwood _priority_ , not to leave them alone. Besides, he’d be damned if he let another police unit reveal any Torchwood secrets without him present. Not after all that grief he’d gotten with – and because of – Gwen lately.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Barely five minutes after they’d left the police station, Lloyd called Swanson on her mobile phone.

“Detective, Cooper’s car is moving again,” she reported.

“Direction?” Swanson asked tersely.

“Dr. Sato can't predict any specific destination, not yet,” Lloyd answered. “I’ll keep feeding the coordinates through, so you’ll catch up with the Torchwood team in no time.”

After a moment, she called again.

“Detective, Cooper’s car’s heading for the coast line on the B587. It's a place called Hedley Point, do you know it?”

“Yeah,” Swanson replied. “It’s where's the ferry goes out to the islands. Get a move on, Shaun. Thanks, Lloyd.”

“I’ll call you if something changes,” Lloyd promised and hung up.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Like every good beat cop (which, of course, excluded Gwen, unless it came to less than stylish clothes shops), Andy knew Cardiff like the back of his hand. So he figured out without any outside help that both Torchwood and the police car were heading to Hedley Quay. What was more, he knew several shortcuts that enabled him to get there before the others. It wasn’t a big advance, granted, but he still got there first.

Barely had he parked his police car behind a fence with barbed wire top when another car pulled up. Through the windshield, Andy could see the number plate; it was NI97 OYO – Gwen’s car. It stopped in front of the fence, barely ten metres from Andy’s car.

But the woman who got out was _not_ Gwen; she was older, of a regal carriage and had an exotic, sharply featured face. With that shawl wrapped around her narrow, elegant head, she had a vaguely oriental air about her, like some enchanted princess from _Arabian Nights_. She looked at the sign that said “Do not tie up ANYTIME”…and smiled.

For some reason, that smile made Andy shiver… and _not_ in a good way.

Then she went around the car… and started dragging a strangely apathetic Gwen out of it. Andy narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if Gwen indeed had a big, bleeding wound in the back of her head. Yes, he decided after a moment, she definitely had. What the hell happened to her? And who was that creepy woman with her?

The woman was still dragging Gwen along, down the quay. Andy slipped out of his car, wishing that beat cops would be allowed to wear a gun – unlike Gwen, he actually _could_ shoot and was quite decent with a sidearm – and followed them.

He caught up with them soon enough, so that he could hear the woman speaking to Gwen in a strange, singsong voice.

“It's beautiful, Gwen,” she said. “Can you see? We'll take the ferry. Go out. As far as we can. Keep on running cos he won't hurt us. We'll keep on going, you and me...”

Behind them, another car pulled up with screeching tyres. Andy glanced back and saw the Torchwood SUV stopping in a rather abrupt manner. At the same moment, Gwen gave up on movement entirely and collapsed. The woman dropped her unceremoniously.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said in a manner that made clear she wasn’t the least sorry. She knelt down next to Gwen and patted her face in a fairly ungentle manner. “Have you gone? Gwen?”

Andy glanced back over his shoulder again and saw that sour-faced Torchwood doctor jump out of the SUV and run towards them with a gun in hand, his finger on the trigger already. Captain Harkness, their boss, gout out of the SUV as well, running after the doctor. He had a fairly ridiculous running style, Andy found, with that theatrical greatcoat billowing after him like some sort of sail, but he was fast. He overtook the doctor in no time.

The woman kneeling next to Gwen was still talking to her in that vaguely insane voice.

“Can you hear me? Gwen? Poor Gwen Cooper… you thought you’d be better than me in everything – with the glove, in Owen’s bed, in all things. That you could replace me, cos you were so much better in everything, eh? Well, it ain’t gonna happen, sweetheart. _I’m_ gonna replace _you_ now. Doing the same to you that you’ve done to me. Isn’t that fair?”

“Suzie!” Captain Harkness bellowed from behind. “Suzie Costello, I promise I’m gonna kill you for the last and final time if you don’t stop!”

But he couldn’t shoot because a petrified Andy was in the way.

The woman, whose name was apparently Suzie, gave them a slightly manic smile.

“Would you?” she challenged Captain Harkness. “When there’s a part of her that’s now me? Could you really do that if I’m the only thing left of her?”

“Why are you doing this?” Captain Harkness demanded.

“Because life is all, Jack,” the woman named Suzie answered with eerie calm. “You of all people should know. I'd do _anything_ to stay. _Anything_. And the glove _does_ keep me alive… even if it’s killing poor Gwen Cooper.”

What kind of glove was she speaking about, Andy wondered. Was she insane? Well, that wasn’t really a question, was it?

The insane woman quickly kissed Gwen, wishing her safe journey, whatever _that_ might mean. Then she got up and ran.

Andy was unceremoniously pushed to the side by Captain Harkness, who jumped over Gwen’s motionless body, while their doctor shoved his gun in the back of his pants and dropped to his knees to check on her.

“Suzie!” Captain Harkness stopped, pulled out an old-fashioned Webley and aimed steadily. “Let her go!”

The madwoman was standing at the end of the quay by then. With the lighthouse visible behind her, she offered an almost poetic sight… if there weren’t the madness glittering in her jewelled black eyes. “I can't.”

Captain Harkness looked at the Torchwood doctor still kneeling next to Gwen. “Owen, how is she?”

For a moment, the doctor didn’t answer. Then he picked up Gwen, cradling her in his arms.

“Owen!” Captain Harkness said sharply, never taking his eyes off the crazy Suzie. “Report!”

“I think we're too late,” the doctor finally answered.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Detective Swanson gritted her teeth in frustration. While it was true that PC Bridges was the best driver of the entire police station, he was also a _safe_ driver. He always drove exactly as fast as the survival choices of himself and his passengers allowed. Which was still awfully fast, if it had to be – no other police constable could hope to drive through Cardiff safely at even close to his speed – but couldn’t match Jack Harkness’ infamous suicidal driving style.

It made sense. If Harkness couldn’t die – unless this was some sick Torchwood insider joke – he didn’t have to worry about traffic accidents. At least not where his own person was concerned. And while he clearly didn’t see his team members as mere cannon fodder, the fact itself might have made him just a bit too reckless on the road.

The humble police couldn’t follow his less than stellar example, of course. They were all too mortal, every single one of them; and besides, no police car could be compared to their SUV, which was enhanced with lots and lots of unknown technology.

 _Alien_ technology, Swanson reminded herself, wondering whether they’d make her forget everything when the case was closed and provide the police with some fake – although perhaps more believable – explanation. They were usually good at that sort of thing, despite the mistake that had gotten Cooper hired by Torchwood.

Swanson still wasn’t sure she believed the harebrained explanation about the dead woman siphoning life energy off Cooper via the glove neither of them was actually wearing at the moment. It sounded too fantastic, even for Torchwood – like some idiotic D&D roleplay. But again, so did bringing back the dead, and she’d seen them doing so with her very eyes.

After what seemed eternity, Bridges finally pulled up the car near some sort of fence with barbed wire on top, near the quay. The Torchwood SUV was already there – but so was a police patrol car, and Swanson recognized PC Davidson not far from it. 

She shook her head. Was Cooper’s stupidity and chronic insubordination perhaps infectious? God knew Andy had been exposed to the effects long enough. At least he had the common sense to take cover while Harkness was aiming his Webley at the undead Suzie.

“Perhaps we should consider giving our constables firearms, too,” she said softly. “In a situation like this, you guys are at a serious disadvantage.”

“On the other hand, a gun might only make thing worse,” Bridges replied. “I _can_ use a gun, as you know, but I’d still prefer not to have to shoot at people. There are other ways.”

“Perhaps,” Swanson allowed. “But what about facing armed criminals? What when the choice is either shoot or get killed?”

“We have people for that kind of job,” Bridges said slowly. “And I for my part never wanted to be one of them. Do you think Captain Harkness will really kill that woman?”

“She’s his responsibility,” Swanson replied. “She used to be one of his people – in a sense she still is, I guess – and Torchwood leaders have the licence to execute Torchwood members, if they become a threat.”

“Is she a threat?” Bridges asked.

Swanson nodded. “Based on what I’ve seen and learned in their headquarters… yeah, very much so. And not for Torchwood alone. We’ll all be sleeping better once she’s gone.”

“If you say so,” Bridges watched the ugly scene doubtfully. “Hey, isn’t that Gwen Cooper? What’s she doing here, injured and all? What happened to her?”

“If I’ve understood correctly, she decided to redeem the suspect by helping her escape captivity from the Torchwood base,” Swanson replied dryly.

Bridges gave her a baffled look. “She did _what_?” Then he shrugged. “Well, she’s always been stubborn and stupid; thought she knew everything better than other people who’d done the job for decades. I sometimes wonder how he made it through police training to begin with – and with _best behaviour_ , at that?”

“Perhaps the bulging of her eyes has a hypnotic effect on male hormones,” Swanson shrugged. “Well, if their doctor was right, that particular puzzle might remain unsolved, for ever. Unless Harkness manages to stop that madwoman.”

“Aren’t we gonna help them?” Bridges asked.

Swanson shook her head. “Not until we absolutely have to. Harkness has made it clear that this is an internal Torchwood affair. And, to be honest, I’m not that eager to play the executioner for them. They’ve created this mess in the first place; they might as well clean it up.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Andy watched the interaction between Captain Harkness and the insane woman with morbid fascination. It was obvious that the two had known each other for quite some time, and so it was even less understandable that the Torchwood leader would kill her for _Gwen_ , of all people. Unless Gwen had succeeded in seducing him and making him sexually dependent, as she’d done with Rhys, but that was rather unlikely. Had she managed to do _that_ , Andy would know about it. She could never quite resist boasting about her romantic adventures to him.

So, if Captain Harkness wasn’t Gwen’s love slave and the man was still willing to kill an old acquaintance for her sake, there could be only one reason for it: the other woman was dangerous. Too dangerous to be allowed to walk away, even with her memories wiped.

Andy knew about Torchwood’s infamous amnesia pill and about the fact that every Torchwood leader was empowered by the Crown to execute his or her underlings if they became a threat. Gwen couldn’t resist the thrill to tell him about the narrow escape of Ianto Jones, who’d apparently done something foolhardy and dangerous, almost causing the death of them all.

She never told him _what_ Ianto had actually done. Said it was classified and Andy better off not knowing about the dangers Torchwood constantly protected Cardiff – and the rest of the world – from. She’d become rather patronising since joining the organisation and loved to rub her confidential knowledge under Andy’s nose, without sharing it with him. She had always been that kind of person, which explains why nobody wanted to work with her at the police.

She had, however, described in loving – and rather morbid – detail, how Captain Harkness had pushed Ianto to his knees, holding a gun to the young man’s head, threatening to kill him on the spot, should he disobey. She seemed to enjoy those details in a fairly disturbing way, in truth. As if she had some secret grudge against the young Welshman who served as Torchwood’s public face.

Andy wondered whether such occurrences were a regular case with Torchwood. Young Ianto Jones certainly didn’t seem afraid of his boss, at least not at the rare times Andy ran into the full team. Although, if he thought about it, Ianto _was_ oddly deferential to Captain Harkness, calling him _sir_ , which nobody else did, helping him into that greatcoat like the batman of some World War I military officer and stuff. It was… strange, especially seeing the complete lack of formality the rest of the team treated their boss with.

The same Captain Harkness who was aiming a gun at one of his team members (or was that _former_ team member?) right now, asking her coldly. “If I kill you, does she live?”

“But you can't, Jack,” the woman replied mockingly. “Cos look at me. I'm the last thing left of Gwen Cooper, can't you see it?”

Which, in Andy’s opinion, was still one hundred per cent better than the original. This Suzie person might be mad and dangerous, but at least she had _style_.

“Can't you see it?” she asked, staring at Captain Harkness with the mesmerising, unblinking look of a cobra. “Just the smallest bit of her?”

Captain Harkness raised an eyebrow and shook his head, unimpressed by her performance.

“Not one bit,” he answered and shot her squarely in the chest. Blood splattered all over the front of Suzie’s coat; she spun as she was falling down, like on those slow-motion scenes in American crime series. Captain Harkness looked at their doctor who was still cradling Gwen’s lifeless body. “Owen? Anything?”

“Nothing,” the doctor replied grimly, seeking for a lifesign and finding none. His boss frowned.

“But I broke the connection…” he trailed off as Suzie opened her eyes and grinned, moving her hand experimentally. He moved in close and pointed his gun down at her.

“I killed you,” he said, almost accusingly.

“And _I_ killed _you_ ,” Suzie pointed out reasonably, giving Andy the feeling as if he’d just entered the Twilight Zone. “I shot you right through the head. I killed you, stone dead, and then you just stood up and lived. Am I right? Did you really do that?”

“Yes, I did,” Captain Harkness replied matter-of-factly. Andy tried _very_ hard not to freak out, big time.

Suzie gave her boss – or _former_ boss – a queer look. “So you can survive a bullet through the head?”

Captain Harkness shrugged. “Yeah, I can. And a lot more.”

“How?” Suzie asked, echoing the thoughts of both Andy and Swanson.

“Long story,” the Torchwood leader replied. “It’s happened to me a while back and seems to stick.”

“So you really can’t die?” Suzie asked. “Never at all? No matter what?”

“Oh, I can die all right, and it hurts just as much as it would hurt anyone else,” Captain Harkness answered with a mirthless laugh. “I just don’t seem to be able to _stay_ dead.”

“And you make judgement about whether I’m allowed to live or not,” Suzie commented, darkly amused. “Aren’t you making it a little too easy for yourself, Captain Jack?”

“If you think _this_ is easy, then you’re even more delusional than I thought,” Captain Harkness replied grimly.

“All I know is what comes once you’re truly dead,” Suzie said in a low, almost hypnotic voice. “You shouldn’t feel so nostalgic about death, Captain my Captain. Cos there’s _nothing_ out there. _Absolutely_ nothing. Just darkness… and in that darkness, there’s something moving… coming for you.”

“And you saw that?” Captain Harkness asked doubtfully.

Suzie shrugged. “Why do you think I was so desperate to come back? Because I missed the sight of your magnificent jaw line?”

Captain Harkness shook his head. “I can’t allow you to come back, Suzie. You’d gone awry long before you shot yourself a couple of months ago. You’re a risk I just can’t take. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t stop me,” Suzie said with a dark smile.

“I can try,” Captain Harkness replied and shot her again. Twice.

The impact of the bullets threw Suzie backwards again, but soon she rose anew.

“Can’t die,” she said. “Never gonna die… just like you… The two of us, we’ll roam the Earth till the end of time itself… Ain’t that a chilling thought?”

Harkness shot her again. “How much more of this do you want?” he asked, exasperated.

Suzie rolled over with a wet slap; the sound made Andy wish to throw up on the spot.

This is all your fault, Jack,” she whispered. “You recruited me in the first place.”

Harkness glared down at her coldly. “That was a mistake I’m gonna correct right now,” he touched his headset. “Tosh? I think I’ve figured it out. Destroy the glove. It’s keeping them connected.”

“So, as long as the glove exists, she’ll be siphoning life energy off Cooper?” Swanson asked, walking closer and ignoring Andy’s open-mouthed shock.

Harkness nodded, never taking his eyes off Suzie. “What are you doing here, Kathy?” he asked.

“Making sure you eliminate a threat you’ve created in the first place,” Swanson looked down at Suzie who, although bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds, was getting stronger again. “It’s a waste, really. Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t hesitate to pick her for my team. She’s a genius. But let’s face it, she’s also an insane serial killer, and we can’t allow her to live. She’s too much of a risk for other people.”

Harkness nodded again and watched impatiently as Suzie began twitching and trashing… and then went suddenly very, very still.

“Tosh?” he asked via headset. “Is that accursed glove destroyed?” The answer must have been positive because he nodded in satisfaction. “Okay. Tell Ianto to prepare the freezer unit. We’re gonna bring the body back.” He turned to the doctor. “Owen? Any changes?”

The doctor shook his head mutely. Harkness touched his headset again. “Tosh? Tell Ianto we’re gonna need _two_ freezer units. Gwen didn’t make it,”

He broke the connection and sighed. “And so we’re short one man again… unless one of you’d be interested in working for Torchwood…?”

Swanson shook her head. “Don’t look at me, Jack. I’ve already seen more of Torchwood than I’ll ever be comfortable with.”

“I can make you forget,” Harkness offered. “In fact, it might be easier for all parties involved.”

“Thanks, but… no, thanks,” Swanson replied. “I prefer to _know_ the dangers I’m facing. Even if it _does_ make me uncomfortable. And it might be beneficial for you to have someone at the police who knows at least a little about your work. Makes cooperation somewhat easier.”

“That’s true,” Harkness admitted. “Too bad I can’t persuade you to join us. You’d be a real asset to the team.”

“So was she, apparently,” Swanson said, looking down at the now truly dead body of Suzie Costello. “And look how it’s ended. I can’t take that kind of risk, Jack. I’ve got a daughter I want to see grow up.”

“I understand,” Harkness said, his eyes unusually serious, and Swanson had the feeling that he _did_ , in fact, understand. “So you’re willing to be at least our liaison with the police?”

“That’s negotiable,” Swanson replied primly. “At the dinner table, perhaps – if you’re buying.”

Harkness flashed one of his famous, blinding smiles at her. “Deal. You choose the time and the place.”

“Erm…” Andy cleared his throat. “Captain Harkness, if you’re truly looking for a new team member… I _would_ be interested.”

“Thanks, but we’ve done the ex-PC thing already, and it didn’t work out,” Harkness answered dismissively.

The flat-out rejection was quite the blow for Andy’s ego, but if he was honest, he couldn’t truly blame Captain Harkness. After the experiences he must have made with Gwen, the last person he’d want to hire would be a police constable.

Swanson, however, disagreed.

“If you accept a piece of advice from me, Jack – hire him,” she said. “Contrary to common belief, our constables aren’t incompetent idiots. They’re the backbone of law enforcement, and Andy here is everything Cooper was _not_ : he’s a team worker, he knows how to follow orders, _and_ he’s had some basic weapons training. Without having been burdened by such a useless partner, he’d have made Desk Sergeant by now.”

“I don’t need a Desk Sergeant,” Harkness replied. “I already have one. What I need is a field agent with some technical know-how. A weapons expert would be even better.”

“Really?” Swanson raised a superior eyebrow. “Why did you hire _Cooper_ , then? She sure as hell wasn’t any of those things.”

Harkness shrugged. “Call it a moment of weakness. Not repeating the same mistake, though.”

“It’s your decision, of course,” Swanson said. “I’m wondering, though; where you’re gonna find a more… _suitable_ candidate with the same local knowledge on such short notice. Besides, he already knows a lot about you, thanks to Cooper’s chronic indiscretion, so you can spare the basic introductions.”

Which was only too true. So true that it made Harkness think.

“Fine,” he finally said. “But I’m not promising anything. Trial period: three months. If you don’t turn out right, I’ll Retcon you back _before_ the time Gwen joined us. And don’t believe this will be easy: this time I’ll look _very_ closely before making it a permanent thing.”

“What’s it, Jack?” the doctor sneered. “Tall, lanky and blond doesn’t rock your boat?”

“Not unless it’s female,” Harkness replied without a beat; then he looked down at Gwen Cooper’s corpse and sighed. “I’m so _not_ looking forward to tell Rhys the news.”

“I can do it,” Andy offered. “Rhys and I have always gotten along fairly well. But _what_ do I tell him?”

“Tell him Gwen got shot by a dangerous criminal,” Harkness said simply. “The head wound would cover the story. Rhys doesn’t need to know that it was her own damned fault, by helping Suzie escape. It will be hard enough for him as it is.”

“Especially if you put Cooper in one of those lovely freezer units,” Swanson said. “The poor bloke won’t even have a body to bury.”

“He will have one,” Harkness sighed. “Just not Gwen’s. We’ll swap bodies right before the funeral. Standard Torchwood procedure, if the circumstances of the death are related to alien tech – which they are, in this case, big time.”

“How do you manage to swap bodies at such a narrow deadline?” Andy asked, worried. “There are a million things that can get wrong.”

“No, there aren’t,” Harkness replied calmly. “Not when Ianto Jones is taking care of the logistics.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, the day ain’t getting any younger. Would you mind giving us a hand with the corpses? The sooner we get them back to the Hub the better – and this is what you’ll do a lot if you join us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short epilogue yet to come, and then this particular story is finished.


	9. Part Nine

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 08 – SUZIE IS FREAKING HARD TO KILL, Part 9**

A week after Suzie Costello’s second – and hopefully final – death, Gwen Cooper was laid to rest in _Glyntaff Cemetery_ , near Cardiff. Or so everyone outside of Torchwood (and a chosen circle of the local police) thought.

In truth, Ianto Jones had managed to swap her body with that of a poor homeless girl kept in cold storage under the Hub. Gwen herself was placed in the freezer unit next to Suzie’s.

“Call it poetic justice,” he said to Jack, making notices on his clipboard. “Connected as they were from the beginning to the bitter end, it’s only right to bed them side by side.”

Jack nodded and swallowed hard. “Thanks for doing this for me, Ianto.”

The young Welshman shrugged. “Part of my job, sir.”

“No,” Jack shook his head. “No, _I_ should be doing it, but...” he sighed and leaned on the nearest locked, looking into nowhere. “Killing Suzie was harder than I’d expected. She was the first one I’ve picked for my team. I knew she was a loner and prone to obsessive behaviour, but… well, she was damn good, and she _loved_ her job. She never whined about long working hours and the lack of a private life. She… she _belonged_ to Torchwood.”

Ianto gave him a puzzled look. “And you have come to the realization that Gwen didn’t?”

“Gwen was a mistake… _my_ mistake, but she still got to pay the price,” Jack looked along the huge room, full of lockers, most of them hiding someone – or something – of importance for the organization… several of them important for him. “One day, we're going to run out of space...”

“That’s a long time yet to come,” Ianto answered. “This is only the upper level, sir. There are several more below.”

Jack gave him a sour look. “And _that_ ’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“If you’re worried about the logistics of laying future Torchwood members to final rest, then yes, it is,” Ianto replied calmly. “However, if you need some distraction from your current and totally counterproductive guilt trip… well, I’ve still got that stopwatch.”

Jack frowned. “So…?”

“Well,” Ianto said. “Think about it. Your dinner date with Detective Swanson is in three hours. Lots of things you can do with a stopwatch in three hours.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack suddenly broke into a broad, somewhat lewd grin. “Should I send the others home early?”

“I think Tosh and Andy have already gone… together, if I’m not mistaken,” Ianto told him.

Jack shrugged. “Who am I to criticize others for having an office romance? I hope it works out for them. Tosh deserves someone decent in her life.”

“She does,” Ianto agreed. “Life within Torchwood is short and brutal enough as it is… as we’ve just seen. And so is death.”

“Speaking of which,” Jack asked, “what are you gonna put on Gwen’s certificate? Gunshot wound or fatal accident caused by alien tech?”

Ianto looked at him calmly. “I thought the same that’s on Suzie’s would be appropriate: death by Torchwood,” he said.

Jack nodded. “Works for me. See you in my office in ten – assuming you’re finished by then.”

Ianto nodded with a faint smile and brought forth the stopwatch with flourish, clicking the button on the top. “That’s ten minutes… and counting, sir.”

~The End – for now~


End file.
